Wet Hot Hogwarts Summer
by astridfire
Summary: A post-DH EWE fun time post-war story of healing, friendship and summer romance. The students of Hogwarts join together to rebuild the school and themselves in the summer following the war. HPDM SLASH.
1. The Trouble This Summer

**Wet Hot Hogwarts Summer**

_From astridfire_

Summary: A post-DH (EWE) fun time post-war story of healing, friendship and summer romance. The students of Hogwarts join together to rebuild the school and themselves in the summer following the war.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Blaise, Blaise/Pansy, Luna/Theo, Ginny/Dean

Genres: Romance, Humor, Drama

Rating: T to M (just to be safe.)

Warnings: sexual situations, slash, het, swearing, DH, EWE. Various POV's. **This story will include SLASH**. Consider yourself warned. If you don't like it, make friends with your back button.

Disclaimer: I am making no money from the writing of this story. I am not JK Rowling and do not own any of the characters or places described herein. Note that this disclaimer applies for every chapter of this story.

A/N: I wrote this fic for National Novel Writing Month. This story is NOT based off the movie Wet Hot American Summer, I just liked this title. It's fun, and illustrates a few points I was hoping to make with this story. There's the wet (which refers to flooding), the hot (which refers to temperature and the relationships contained herein), and hey, it's set in the summertime. So there you have it. This story also contains several ships, including, but not limited to **R/Hr**, HP/GW, HP/BZ, **HP/DM, PP/BZ, TN/LL. GW/DT**. The ships in bold font are what this story will end on. Hopefully none of that will put you off. This story contains **SLASH** (relationships of a male/male nature) and if that bothers you, I'd rather you didn't read.

-oOoOo-

_Chapter One:_

_The Trouble this Summer_

Hogwarts was in ruin.

Draco knew that Muggles who managed to get close enough would see the derelict ruins of an ancient castle, and he wondered whimsically if he'd lost his magic on the journey from Wiltshire to Hogsmeade.

It still looked like Hogwarts. Sort of. Ravenclaw Tower was listing away from the main body of the school, there were holes in the roof and giant sized punctures in the stone walls. The front doors were missing and the entry to the school was a dark gaping maw. The school looked like it might like to eat him. Windows were broken, the glitter of broken glass evident in the morning light. The morning was warm, sun burning up the dew, and humid enough to make him tug at his collar.

A little over twenty-four hours ago Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord.

Draco's father was back in Azkaban, awaiting trial now. His mother was at home, intent on ridding the Manor from the taint of the Dark Lord, but Draco did not believe it could be done and told his mother so. He could not stay there any more, he said. She'd waved him off, cheerfully vindictive as she floated the dining room table out to the lawn and set it on fire.

Draco pushed the gates open and trudged up the path, taking in the scatter of centaur slung arrows embedded in the lawn, and patches of red-brown blood staining the grass. He wanted to be sick, and looked away.

For so long he wished and hoped that the war would end, but now that it had it seemed the hard part was only now upon them.

The Entrance Hall was a wreck. The banister of the main staircase missing in great chunks, and Draco could not recall what caused it. The upper balcony had collapsed, leaving a four-foot section missing, which would make for an interesting trip for Ravenclaws heading up to their tower. He couldn't even look at the Great Hall. The memories were too fresh, and he could almost hear Harry Potter's lightly taunting voice.

He remembered standing in the shadows watching Potter circle the Dark Lord like a lion cornering prey, and feeling bizarrely gleeful, because he knew the tone of Potter's voice. It was his own. The tones and inflections he used when he wanted Potter to lose his temper. When he let insults slip off his tongue with a bite. The voice that made Potter go for his wand, and Granger say, "He's not worth it, Harry."

Living in Death Eater headquarters (if one could call it living) had been very informative. While the majority of the Death Eaters were cruel and exacting, they were also foolish, and were often drunk and loud regarding their plans and the secrets of their Lord. Draco had known about the prophecy since Christmas break. He'd heard his Aunt Bella crowing about Potter's supposed secret power, and from that point on Draco _knew_ that Potter was going to win—simply because Potter didn't know how to lose. Draco knew all too well.

Then Potter had been in his house with Granger and the Weasel, and Draco had known them immediately. How could he not? He knew those vivid green eyes as well as his own.

And yes, he'd been angry, very angry when Potter had taken his wand, because it was _his_ and he _needed_ it—but it had all worked out rather nicely for Potter, hadn't it? Because no matter how many piles of shit Potter was thrown into he came out smelling like roses. Draco was certain that Potter had Felix Felicis running through his veins instead of blood like the rest of them.

Draco wondered if he was the only one who saw Potter for what he really was—just a tremendously lucky idiot, who'd made an art of flying by the seat of his pants. Maybe Granger and the Weasel, though they'd put it in sycophantic terms.

The stairs leading down to the dungeons were untouched, and the hall looked just as it had when he'd come up for dinner for the last time. The lower dungeons were the same, and Draco peeked into the Potions classroom, and Snape's private storeroom, just to assure himself that not everything was broken beyond repair. Some things had lasted. Surely the Slytherin dormitory would offer the same comfort.

Five years he'd been the Prince of Slytherin, but the last two… not so much. Not when Death Eaters were running the school, and he were so far out of the Dark Lord's favor that no one wanted to be near him.

But despite the last two years, Slytherin still felt like his. His domain, where he was strong, and untouchable, and his classmates looked to him when they didn't know which way the wind was blowing.

He stopped in front of the expanse of blank wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. He sighed and laid his cheek to the wall. He was only here to fetch his things. Just to fetch his things and leave. He planned to flee to the home his family kept on the Cote de Azure in France. He planned to sit on the patio overlooking the sea, where he would soak in the sun and absolutely forget that the past two years had ever happened.

He stepped back and thought of how peaceful, how tranquil, how bloody therapeutic it would be.

"Parselmouth," he said, intoning the password.

He barely had time to feel panic as a _tremendous_ amount of water, like the lake had been turned sideways, and was being funneled through the common room door, assaulted him. It threw him back into the wall, cracked his head hard against the stone, and Draco fell into darkness.

-oOoOo-

Harry Potter bit nervously at his lip as he peered up at the elegant house. Malfoy Manor from the outside was a beautiful country house done in a pale stone that somehow managed to be the exact color of the distinctive Malfoy hair. Delicate balconies jutted beneath tall arched windows, and ivy climbed in twisting patterns up the stonework. It did not look like the former headquarters of the Death Eaters. The house looked serene and cool, but also inviting—but Harry did not relish the idea of being inside Malfoy Manor again. Not when the last time he'd been inside he'd heard Hermione being tortured, and Dobby had died. He could almost hear her screams, and the tinkle of falling crystal.

A brilliant white peacock strutted proudly down the nearest hedge, and he had to fight down a wild laugh. "Only the Malfoy's would have _live_ yard ornaments," he said to himself.

He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that this was the right thing to do… and besides, he knew no other way of finding Draco Malfoy.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" asked a loud, rumbling voice. Harry looked around in alarm; he was sure that he'd been alone on the country lane.

"Up here," the voice said.

Harry looked. At the top of the gate was a large Medusa head, snakes for hair coiling outwards in elegant swirls. And it was looking at him.

"Uh, hi."

"Yes, hello. Are you planning to greet the lady of the house sometime today? I'm not going to hold the passage open forever, you know."

"Oh, right. Sorry. That's some pretty impressive magic."

"Thank you," the head said dryly. "On you go then."

Harry hesitated, and the Medusa gave a great sigh and then one of the iron snakes grabbed hold of his sleeve and propelled him through the gate, which turned to mist just before he touched it.

Harry caught himself before he could fall, and brushed off his sleeves, turning to send a glare at the pushy guardian. He straightened his shoulders, and walked up the pebbled path to the front door. It swung open before he could knock.

Narcissa Malfoy was framed in the doorway, looking much better than he'd last saw her, which wasn't difficult or surprising, he supposed. She looked as cool and unapproachable as she had the first time he'd seen her at the Quidditch World Cup, though at the moment she was smiling in polite inquiry. Her eye's actually seemed to _warm_ as she took in her visitor.

"Hullo, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Mr. Potter," she said. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, um... actually, no, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Narcissa stepped out of the doorway and snapped the door closed behind her. She looked up at the house, and her lip curled in disgust. It was a familiar expression, as Harry had seen it on Draco's face many times. "I don't like to be in there either. We're shutting it up."

"Oh?"

"Draco and I can't bear it any longer. It feels too much like…" she trailed off. "Well, unpleasant, anyhow." Harry couldn't imagine why she was telling him this. He supposed though, that Narcissa probably hadn't been able to speak freely for quite some time, and perhaps he made an convenient ear to speak in.

A part of him wanted to hate her still, for the part she played in sending Sirius to his death, but Kreacher had played a larger part and Harry had forgiven the elf, and it seemed silly to be able to forgive an elf but not forgive a human being. Especially given that without her assistance he may not have been able to defeat Voldemort.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I wanted to thank you for what you did in the Forest—"

She shook her head. "We are quite even, Mr. Potter. Draco told me how you saved his life, and that is worth everything to me."

"Well," Harry started, and then decided to leave it be. He couldn't have left Draco to die in that room. He was physically incapable of such a thing. He also wanted to point out that if it hadn't been for her deception, Voldemort might still be alive today. He shrugged and decided to get to the point. "Actually, I was wondering if I could speak to your son."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I, uh…" Harry drew Draco's hawthorn wand from his pocket. "I wanted to return this. I wasn't sure if he even had a wand any more. Yours was lost in the fire, and, well… I can't imagine not having one."

Narcissa smiled slightly. "He pitched such a fit when you took it from him. And I'm afraid I cannot help you."

"Why not?"

"Draco is not here, and I will not see him for several weeks. You caught me packing, you see. I'm going to stay with my sister."

"Andromeda?"

"As my other sister is dead, yes, I'll be staying with Andie. And the baby." She smiled again. "I understand you were made his godfather."

Harry grinned. He was absurdly proud to be little Teddy's godfather, and anytime anyone mentioned it he couldn't help but smile goofily, and try to quash the urge to take out his wallet and show around pictures of Teddy.

Narcissa seemed to understand, and found it endearing. "I expect we will be seeing more of each other then. You'll find my son at Hogwarts." And she made to go back inside.

"Hogwarts?" said Harry, surprised. "What is he doing there?"

Narcissa shook her head in motherly dismay. "Something to do with the Slytherin dormitory being flooded. He's hell bent on fixing it." She gave an elegant shrug. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter. I look forward to seeing you again."

And she disappeared into the house.

Harry frowned. "Flooded?"

-oOoOo-

One week after the final battle, after all the funerals, as the Ministry was trying to put itself back together, the Muggleborns were slowly trickling back to their former jobs and lives, and lawyers and Ministry officials were in a frenzy of putting together cases against suspected Death Eaters, Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts.

She was Headmistress now, and held the letter from the Board of Governors in her hand as she approached the bruised and battered school. The house elves had been busy while she'd been away. Broken glass, dust, and blood had been cleared from the floors and walls, and a large but organized pile of broken masonry was littering the scarred lawn.

She stood on the path and gave a great sigh.

"We'll never be able to open in time for term," she said to herself.

After the battle, no one had stayed long. There was much to do, friends and family to contact and to bury. They ate and drank in small celebration, and then before the day was out got down to the business of putting their war-torn world back together.

Minerva had spent the last week in London arranging for magical architects and building inspectors and curse breakers to come to the school, assess the damage, and then arrangements would be made to hire wizards and witches to make the repairs. Even with magic it would be a long and difficult process.

She entered the school, intent on going to the Headmaster's Office (Headmistresses now, she supposed), and getting a report from the House Elves on what they had found and hadn't been able to deal with themselves.

A small pop to her left told her that her return had been noted. "Headmistress McGonagall is back!" the elf said happily.

"Indeed I am, Gigi."

"The Head Boy is needing Mistresses help."

Minerva turned sharply. "What on earth do you mean?" There wasn't meant to be anyone in the castle, let alone…

"Master Draco has been here all week! He is working very hard. Hardly eating or sleeping, he is."

"Where is Mr. Malfoy now?"

"The library, Mistress, Gigi thinks. But he could be down in the water again. The water is giving him many troubles."

Minerva felt as though her head was spinning. _Water? Troubles? Malfoy…_ "Oh, thank you, Gigi. I will see what Mr. Malfoy is up to immediately."

"I will tells him," she said, and went to snap her fingers.

"No! Wait!" said Minerva. She very much wanted to see what Draco Malfoy was up to before he knew that she was there. "Walk with me."

Dumbledore had appointed Draco as Head Boy, and Severus had followed through with the instruction, though Draco hadn't been at school often. (And their Head Girl hadn't been there at all.) Minerva wasn't sure where he went to, but she could make a good guess. He always looked white and terrified before leaving, and returned green and trembling. And she would have had to be blind not to notice how far out of favor Draco had fallen with his Slytherin classmates, especially those whose parents were serving Lord Voldemort.

Draco hadn't been a very effective Head Boy, because none of the students would go to him for help – not the Death Eater's children, because they'd lost faith in the Malfoy name, and certainly not the others who were still wary of it. All in all, Draco Malfoy had not been a very good choice, but Minerva had thoughts on who would be in the coming year, if he decided to return.

She had seen the boy briefly following the battle wrapped in his mother's arms, his hands clasped within his father's, who'd had his head bowed and was begging his family to forgive his mistakes. There was no danger from that quarter.

So while she didn't think Draco Malfoy had been up to anything sinister this past week, where he'd seemed to have free reign over the school, she couldn't help but be suspicious. She told herself that had it been Harry Potter lurking in the library at this moment, she'd act the same.

The first thing she thought upon entering the library was that Irma Pince was going to have a coronary.

The domino effect was in full evidence here. Every freestanding bookshelf was on its side, and books were _everywhere_. Just the library itself, Minerva thought, was going to take until Halloween to put to rights.

A study table in the middle of the room had the air of being in the middle of a book explosion. A pale haired figure was sitting hunched over an open book, quills and ink and several long rolls of parchment before him, and all around in a wide circle with the air of selecting and setting aside in frustration were at least twelve piles of books, all at least as many high.

Draco pushed the current book he had his nose in aside, dropped in on a pile, and picked his way over to the scatter of books on the floor. He knelt and picked through the mess at his feet, stacking books as he discarded them. He made a noise that sounded like, "Ah ha!" and rose, already thumbing through the thick tome.

"Mr. Malfoy."

He started, and dropped the book on his foot. "Ow! Son of a—" He looked around, and started again. There were purple shadows under his eyes, and his clothes and hair looked strangely damp. "Hullo, Professor. Er—Headmistress."

"What on earth are you doing here? I thought the school was empty."

"It is. Mostly." He picked the book up off his foot. "I've just been, um…"

Minerva had never heard the boy at such a loss for words. He was usually full of them, and always when she wanted him to be quiet.

"You've been tidying the library?" she asked dryly.

Draco looked around, as if just noticing the devastation. "No, Professor. I was researching."

"Mr. Malfoy, I hardly think this is the time for extracurricular research. And in any case, I was given to understand that Malfoy Manor has quite an extensive library, and I'm almost certain that it is in better condition than this one. Perhaps you should do your research at home."

"Professor—Headmistress. You don't understand. I've been… well, I've been trying to help. The house-elves all think I'm mad, which is really saying something, considering."

Minerva pinned him with a hard stare.

"Er, here." He selected a roll of parchment, the largest of the lot, and handed it to her. Minerva unrolled it and began to read, eyebrows raising in surprise.

It was a catalogue of damages to the school, color coded to indicate what should take first priority in the repairs, and at least one fourth of the list was already marked completed.

"You did this?" If all was correct, it would save her a week of work.

"Gigi and the other house-elves helped out quite a bit, but I wrote it all out and she's been overseeing the other elves to get what they were able to done. And the others have—"

Minerva's eyes stuck on one item that was marked in red. "The dungeons are flooded?"

"Yes. It's been getting worse. The kitchens and the Hufflepuff dormitory are safe for now, but Slytherin is completely underwater, and the Potions class is half filled. It's getting higher every day."

"Is that why you're—" she gestured to his still damp hair and clothes.

"Yes. I went down with a Bubble-Head charm to see what happened. The windows in the Slytherin common room shattered, I think because of the giants stomping around and battering the walls, and the pressure put cracks in the outer wall. That's why it's still filling up."

That was… oh, she hardly wanted to think about it. Very bad indeed.

"This is very good work, Mr. Malfoy. May I ask why you've done all this?"

Draco looked pleased for a moment, then shrugged, and muttered something about not wanting to be at the Manor any longer. "I was planning to just get my things and leave, but then… well. The flooding in the upper dungeon is my fault. I opened the common room door, you see, and…"

Minerva could imagine the wall of water that had assaulted the boy. "You're very lucky you weren't killed!"

"I think I nearly was. I woke up in the Entrance Hall with a splitting headache, and this one," he gestured to Gigi, "standing over me. She says that she popped me out of there."

"Master Draco almost drowned," Gigi said, wringing her hands in remembered worry.

"And then," he went on, "I was worried that I'd be in, well, even more trouble than I already am in, so I tried to fix it… and well, the Elves were so overwhelmed. They'd no idea what to do, and there was so much else… The whole thing just snowballed." Draco fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, and determinately did not look at her.

Minerva pinched her lips to hide her approval. "You're doing an excellent job in your position as Head Boy, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco chanced a glance at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Thank you, Professor."

She thought, with some self-recrimination, that it was the first time she'd ever praised the boy for anything.

"Perhaps you could show me the research you've already done?" she said. "I suspect it was a charm that failed before the windows broke, and while that is not my area of expertise I can contact Professor Flitwick to see what his thoughts are on the matter."

Draco brightened further, and unrolled a second scroll. "I thought it was a charm too, Professor, but according to an early edition of _Hogwarts: A History_, it might have been a combination of charms and a potion tempered into the glass of the windows…"

The Headmistress and Head Boy put their heads together, and bent over the scroll.

-oOoOo-

Harry walked into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, taking note of the great oak double doors that were propped against a far wall, and wondered why they hadn't been replaced yet. Then he really _looked_ at the Hall, and doors off hinges seemed to be the least of the problems there. The large window above had no glass in its pane, scorch marks from missed spells burned the walls at irregular intervals, and great chunks of the main staircase's banister were missing.

Even with all this, it looked better, if only cleaner, since the last time he saw it. The House Elves must have been very busy this past week.

The voices of two boys were drifting into the hall from the stairwell down to the lower levels.

"Hullo?" said Harry.

The voices stopped, and one called, "Draco, is that you?"

Harry made his way down the steps and was met with a very bizarre scene. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were in the upper dungeon corridor, and along one wall school trunks were stacked three high, oddly dripping water. Both boys were wearing swimming trunks.

Harry felt as though he'd just walked in on some elaborate prank planning, and couldn't stop a grin. "What are you two doing?"

Nott looked at him as though he'd gone round the twist, but Zabini grinned back and said, "Well if it isn't the Chosen-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice-Conqueror, King of us All—" Zabini trailed off, frowning. "What _are_ they calling you these days, Potter?"

"No idea. I'm hoping they'll eventually figure out my name is just Harry, but I'm not holding my breath. Have you been swimming?"

"After a fashion," said Zabini.

Nott, still looking as though Harry would turn around and snarl any moment said, "The Slytherin dormitory flooded. We've been bringing up the other's things. Figured they'd want them, even if they are waterlogged."

"Ah," said Harry. "Malfoy's mum said something about that. Is Malfoy around?"

"He's in the library trying to find out how to fix it. McGonagall's with him now," said Zabini.

"How bad is the flooding?" asked Harry. While the scene he'd happened upon was rather amusing, he hadn't counted on finding Hogwarts in such a state. Even seeing the destruction during the battle and after hadn't prepared him. Somehow he'd thought Hogwarts would be healed when he walked through the doors, though he knew it was stupid. Magic could do many things, but there was a limit to the miracles it could perform.

"All of Slytherin, and the lower two dungeon levels, and getting ever higher. Hufflepuff is safe for now, but if it isn't fixed that will be under water in a week or two," said Nott.

"Well, shit," said Harry.

"No kidding," laughed Zabini.

"I've got to talk to Malfoy for a minute, but I'll come back and help out, all right?"

"Sure," said Zabini easily. "We're breaking for lunch, but we'll make another trip after that. It's kind of fun. Surreal, actually."

It sounded it. Swimming, diving really, into the depths of Slytherin House, and who was Harry, with his brand new Voldemort-free life, to turn down an opportunity like that?

Harry told the two Slytherins that he'd see them in a bit, and headed towards the library. Nott's voice carried to him, remarking to Zabini, "When did Potter become such a cheerful bastard?"

Harry smirked to himself, and carried on.

-oOoOo-

Draco had never really liked Professor McGonagall, but that was mostly because she'd never liked him. At the moment she was treating him like a prized pupil, and it was going a long way to making him warm to her.

He had done a lot of research on what exactly had been keeping the water from flooding the common room, and trying to figure out why the magic had failed. He was sure it had something to do with the giants.

A possible answer came from an edition from _Hogwarts: A History_, printed in the late fifteenth century, which told how Slytherin had flooded once before, due to a renegade clan of merpeople battering the windows with pikes. The damage had been repaired and the castle defenses under the lake had been improved to guard against another such attack.

McGonagall suspected that those protections had weakened over time, and perhaps the giants thrashing the castle walls had been too much and they'd finally broken. It was just lucky that no one had been in the Slytherin dormitory at the time.

There was very little regarding what spells had been used in the fifteenth century, but there were enough clues to draw from if one knew what they were looking for.

"A break, I think," said McGonagall. Draco began to protest. "Mr. Malfoy, you must eat. You look like death warmed over as it is, and there is no nurse here to care for you if you should fall ill."

Draco inwardly rolled his eyes. If she thought he looked bad now, then she'd obviously not been paying him much attention over the past two years.

On the other hand, he probably _did_ look like crap. His father was back in prison, awaiting trial, and it was only a matter of time before Draco's neck and his mother's were called to the chopping block. As it was, he suspected the only reason he hadn't been taken away just like his father was because the Ministry was in such turmoil.

The door of the library swung open, and the last person Draco wanted to see walked through.

"Oh my God," Potter said, looking at the library in dismay. "Hermione is going to have a coronary."

McGonagall, for some unknown reason, laughed.

"Hullo, Professor," Potter said, smiling at his former Head of House.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Have you come alone, or have you brought a horde of invaders with you?"

"Just me," he smiled. "I came to see Malfoy, actually."

"Why?" Draco asked, startled.

He really hadn't wanted to see Potter again, because he owed Potter, and Draco didn't like it. He owed Potter a life debt for pulling him out of the Room of Requirement, and taking down that Death Eater afterwards, and he owed him gratitude, of all the horrible things, for ridding his life of the Dark Lord. He was of half of mind to throw a hex, but McGonagall was there, looking between them as if just waiting for one or the other to pick a fight.

Well, it wouldn't come from him, he decided. He'd only just gotten into the woman's good graces, and he wasn't about to undo all that hard work. So he only raised an eyebrow at Potter, and fought back the instinct to sneer.

"I wanted to return this." Potter pulled Draco's hawthorn wand from a pocket and held it out.

Draco blinked at it, stunned silent. The wand he was currently using had once belonged to his grandfather, and it only worked in starts and sputters. He suspected this was because his grandfather had been a devout supporter of the Dark Lord, and somehow the wand knew that Draco had not been happy about being in the service of the same.

That wand though, which Potter was still holding out to him, had been his since he turned eleven, and in the time since had defeated that same Dark Lord. A part of him wanted to lash out and snatch it, but something was holding him back.

"You won it though," he said, trying to sound indifferent. "It probably won't work for me anymore."

"Only one way to find out." Potter twiddled it between his fingers, and the smirk that pulled at his lips was saying, '_Scared, Malfoy?_'

Draco, never able to back down from a Potter issued challenge, roughly grabbed the wand, and after a pause, gave it a wave. A rush of familiar warmth ran down his arm and through his fingers, and a shower of blue sparks fell from the tip.

Potter nodded in satisfaction, and turned to McGonagall. "The castle looks terrible."

She smiled thinly. "I'm aware, Potter."

"Can I help?"

She raised her eyebrows. "If you like. But we will discuss this over lunch. Mr. Malfoy, please bring—ah, yes, that scroll." She turned to Draco, "Are the kitchens in order?"

"So far as I could tell," he said. "I don't think there was any damage to it, aside from the cutlery."

_That_ he had insisted be thrown out, and the house-elves had agreed. The thought of any of the knives and such used to attack Death Eaters being used (even after a thorough cleaning) to prepare food made him ill.

Blaise and Theodore were sitting down to eat when the party of three arrived. They stood, looking anxiously at the new Headmistress, and McGonagall turned to Draco. "All right, Mr. Malfoy, how many more of you are there?"

"Just us, Professor, I swear. I owled Blaise and Theo to help."

"We've been diving," grinned Blaise.

"Dare I ask?" she grimaced.

This only made Blaise grin more. "We've been fetching trunks and other belongings. We figure the others might come for them at some point."

She nodded. "Very good. I'd give you all points if it were term."

"Thanks, Headmistress," Blaise chirped.

Over the past week Blaise had become obnoxiously happy. Draco could not remember the boy ever being so… bubbly. And all Blaise would do when his behavior was commented upon was laugh, and say that he was just glad 'all that war nonsense' was over with.

Blaise's mother, being the only family he had, had never been a Death Eater, nor a vocal supporter of Pureblood ideals, and over the past year with Death Eaters teaching the Dark Arts and a biased version of Muggle Studies, Blaise had been all but silent. Never saying a word, never calling attention to himself, he just kept his nose down and did his work and tried not to piss anyone off.

This had worked, mostly because Blaise had never called much attention to himself in the first place. He'd been an average student, more attractive than most, but Blaise was a plotter and not a proclaimer.

Theo had a similar approach, but Theo's father was a Death Eater. So while Theo was relatively safe from the Carrow's wrath, he was also more noticeable to them, and his behavior in their classes was more closely scrutinized. So Theo had gone out of his way to make himself less visible. It hadn't always worked.

Either way, the three of them had made it through alive, and Blaise felt this was cause for a lot of celebration, and apparently he meant to spread that overdosed-on-Cheering-Charms feeling around.

Theo was much more subdued about his relief, but Draco had noticed that Theo looked more relaxed than he had seen him since news of the Dark Lord's return broke at the end of fourth year. He was quicker to laugh and to tease, and between the two of them, Draco felt that maybe everything _would_ turn out all right.

Which was why, when he'd decided to stick around and fix the flooding problem, he'd only sent owls to Theo and Blaise. Because he knew Pansy couldn't be arsed to help out with something like this, because he knew Theo wanted something else to do this summer than wait for his father's trial to begin, and because Blaise would make sure that they had fun.

Draco resolutely did not think about Crabbe, who was dead, and Goyle, who'd stupidly followed his father to Azkaban.

Potter unrolled the parchment, and goggled at the list. "This is…"

McGonagall made a sound of agreement.

"Will Hogwarts be able to open in September?"

"I don't know, Potter," she said. "I have a magical architect, several building inspectors, and a team of curse breakers coming next week. In the meantime, I would like to confirm this list, make sure there is nothing we missed—" she turned to Draco, "Not that I'm doubting your work, Mr. Malfoy. And remedy as much as we are able."

Potter went over the list again, and said, "We're going need more people."

McGonagall made a 'hmm' of agreement. "Am I right to assume the four of you will help?"

Draco and Theo nodded, and Blaise said, "I've nothing better to do this summer."

"And can you manage working together with the bare minimum of fisticuffs?" she asked, looking between himself and Potter.

Potter shrugged, and Draco gave a terse nod.

"Excellent," she said briskly. "Where have you boys been sleeping?"

"Hufflepuff," said Draco. "It's the only dormitory that didn't sustain any damage."

"What happened to Gryffindor?" Potter asked.

"Some of the windows were blown in, and there's a rather large hole in the roof," said Theo.

"Oh." Potter looked pained. Draco wanted to poke at the wound, but he knew how Potter felt. Once he'd gotten over the shock of Slytherin being completely immersed in lake water, he'd been very near tears. The tears weren't just because of Slytherin, but it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. His domain at Hogwarts being in ruin had just pushed him nearer the edge.

"And Ravenclaw wouldn't even let us in. The tower is still standing, but the door guardian said it was too dangerous to even risk a look," said Draco.

The house-elves brought over a lunch spread that would have fed twelve, and they all tucked in. It was especially odd to eat a meal with McGonagall, but it seemed to be no deterrent at all to Blaise, who told several stories about what he'd gotten up to in the past week, complete with drunken imitations.

"I can send out sent out some owls," Potter said, when the meal was done. "See if anyone wants to come help out."

"I suppose I could ask Pansy," Draco said.

Blaise and Theo snickered. "Good luck with getting her to help," said Blaise.

McGonagall stood. "Sixth and seventh years only, please, and written permission from their parents if they are not of age. I'll leave you boys to your diving expedition. Please be careful."

"So, Potter," said Blaise, with a gleeful smirk, "got any swim trunks?"

-oOoOo-

A/N: I have eight chapters of this story written, which comes out to approximately 56K words of slashy goodness. It's only the last chapter and an epilogue which are a bit piece-y at the moment. Please let me know what you think so far. I live for reviews!


	2. Reunited and It Feels So Good

A/N: It's chapter two!! Where things start to take off. Enjoy! If you catch any mistakes please let me know. I think I've gone over this pretty well, but there's always something…

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Two:_

_Reunited and It Feels So Good_

Ron could not recall ever having a worse week. His mum had been crying frequently, the smallest thing would set her off—just the other day she burst into tears while doing the laundry—and Ron had no idea what to do to help her.

Honestly, he was more worried about George, who seemed to be walking around in a daze with no idea what to do with himself. Ginny, who aside from George and his Mum was taking Fred's death the hardest, had finally been able to urge George to return to the joke shop.

Ginny had been in London every day since then, leaving early in the morning and not returning to the Burrow until very late at night. She told Mum that she was helping George put the shop back together, and told Ron that she spent the evenings with George passing a bottle of firewhiskey between them, and putting George to bed when he finally would pass out.

Hermione had left to fetch her parents from Australia four days ago, and Ron hadn't heard from her yet. He'd spent some time with Harry at Grimmauld Place, and the two of them had visited Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy Lupin several times, and those visits were the only bright spot in the week since the battle.

Harry, who'd been as devastated by the deaths of Fred, Tonks and Lupin as the rest of them, literally seemed to come back to life (as if he hadn't done that to them already) when Mrs. Tonks had plopped the little boy into his godfather's lap for the first time.

Teddy had looked at Harry with wide blue eyes, and then scrunched up his face like he was going to cry. Harry had panicked, and looked around for Mrs. Tonks, but then Teddy let out a brilliant laugh and his head was covered in a very messy mop of black hair. Just like Harry's. Harry had laughed in delight, and since then all one had to do when he looked depressed was mention Teddy, and all was right again.

Ron had been avoiding the rest of his family to mourn the loss of his brother (and mope over his world traveling girlfriend) by holing himself away in his room, so when he got an owl from Harry asking if he wanted to join him at Hogwarts he immediately packed a bag and went to tell his mother.

"Of course you should go, dear," she sniffed, and wiped away a stray tear. "It's good of you to want to help."

Awash in guilt for wanting to leave home so very badly, he asked, "Mum, will you be all right?"

She smiled bravely. "Eventually, dear. And I'd like you to enjoy your summer. F-fred would be very upset with us all if we didn't have a little fun now and then."

"I suppose he would."

"Off you go. Give Harry my love."

"Course, Mum." After a very long hug, and a kiss to her cheek, he was gone.

-oOoOo-

"I should stay," Ginny said.

"You should not," said George. "Here, take these… and these… oh, and a few of these. Cause some trouble, will you?"

Ginny took the bag filled to the brim with Wheezes. "Are you sure?"

"Lee and Percy are coming to help out with the re-opening tomorrow, and I've got to hire a replacement for Verity. Everything's going to be just fine."

"George, I don't mind staying. I wouldn't mind helping you out for the rest of the summer."

"No. Fred would have kicked you out that door, and so shall I. Now, out with you, pest."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and gave her brother a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back."

"Hey, Gin?" he called after her. "Thanks for… putting up with me."

"What are pests for?"

-oOoOo-

"He's got to be joking," said Pansy, as she read Draco's owl.

-oOoOo-

"Daddy, shouldn't I help you with the magazine?"

"I only want you to be happy, my precious tulip. And you've not had any time to be a child. No, I'm afraid I must insist you spend the summer with your friends."

"If you insist, Daddy."

"I do, aspen leaf."

-oOoOo-

"Mum, I'm really sorry. I just wanted you and Dad to be safe."

"I know, Hermione."

"And I really do need to get back. There's so much to fix. The wizarding world is such a disaster, you don't even know…"

"I know, Hermione."

"… I'm sorry, Mum."

"Just go, sweetheart."

-oOoOo-

The students arrived one by one three days after the owls went out. Only two sent their regrets.

Harry had been diving with Zabini and Nott again, and only saw Malfoy when he left the library at mealtimes and briefly in the evenings before the four boys fell into exhausted sleep. Harry was fine with this arrangement. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with Malfoy now, as the blond was no longer hurling insults at him, and even his sneers seemed half-hearted.

Zabini and Nott though were great fun, and Harry wished he'd gotten to know them sooner. Zabini was never without an outrageous comment or a dirty story, and while Nott was quiet, he never treated Harry like he was anything special, which was just the way Harry liked it.

The boys spent three days swimming through the Slytherin dormitory, armed with Bubble-Head and warming charms, and dragged trunk after trunk through the murky water.

Nott had enchanted the torches to give off light, though they were underwater, and Zabini had set off some water-purification spells just in case, and on the whole it was a lot like being in a great stone swimming pool. It was fun, but also a lot of work.

The entrance to Slytherin House was located in the lower dungeons, and opened into the common room which Harry had seen only once in his second year. This was where the windows had broken, drowning the common room and cascading downwards on twisting stone staircases leading to the dormitories. Nott and Zabini had started with the first year dorms, located just below the common room, and had worked their way downwards. With any luck, the three boys would be able to haul up the last of the trunks from the seventh year girls' dormitory, and finish the job that day.

Harry couldn't imagine living in Slytherin House, where it was so cold, and the windows only let in murky green light from the lake. He much preferred Gryffindor Tower, which was airy and bright. The Hufflepuff Den, as it was known, was very nice in it's own way. The Den was on ground level with wide arched windows that looked over the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, and the dormitories themselves reminded Harry of a cross between a Hobbit's house, and appropriately enough, a badger's den. The dorm the boys were sleeping in belonged to Hufflepuff first years, and each boy had his own hallowed out area, with a four-poster bed, a desk, and a wardrobe fitted into the walls. Harry quite liked the illusion of privacy, as did the two Slytherin boys, who complained loudly that really it should be the Slytherin students who had such a set up. The common room opened up to an enclosed courtyard, which explained the mystery of why the Hufflepuff students were rarely out on the grounds with the rest of the school.

All in all, Harry liked his summer accommodations, but wished he could be back in Gryffindor Tower, which still felt so much like home.

Ron was the first of the other students to arrive. Harry found him standing in the Great Hall with a dismayed expression on his face as he looked at the enlarged list of damages, which Malfoy had posted on the wall. Nothing more had been marked off the list since Harry had first seen it, as the house-elves were at an end to what their magic was capable of.

"Harry," Ron said faintly. "Have you seen this?"

"Yeah."

"It's bad." Ron made a weak noise in his throat. "Gryffindor Tower?"

"Hole in the roof."

"No…"

"Yeah, I know. Could be worse. Ravenclaw Tower is structurally unsound, and Slytherin is completely underwater."

"Really?'

"Don't sound so excited."

"M'not."

The boys exchanged grins.

"Have you heard from Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Not yet. I think she'll be back soon though. I wish she'd let me go _with_ her."

Harry made a hmm of agreement, but privately felt that Hermione was going to have a sticky mess on her hands, and Ron would only complicate the situation. Though it didn't make Harry feel any better about it. The whole situation was his fault. "She'll be back soon, mate."

"Yeah, I know. I miss her though."

"Me too."

"So who's all here? Did you owl the whole DA?"

"Well, the thing is—"

Just then Malfoy came into the Great Hall, the house-elf Gigi at his heels chattering away.

Malfoy stopped short at the sight of them, and Gigi went quiet and began to wring her fingers together. Ron gaped, and Harry watched his friend's face as shock and then outrage twisted Ron's features. "Malfoy?!"

"Weasley." Malfoy's voice was perfectly inflectionless, the same absence of tone that he used when he absolutely had to speak to Harry.

"What are you doing here?" Ron turned to Harry. "What's he doing here?"

"Well, Ron," said Harry, with a fair amount of amusement and a hearty clap on the shoulder, "this is, as they say, Malfoy's party."

"What?"

"Yes, thank you for that, Potter," said Malfoy, scowling. "Don't you have something to do?"

"I just came in to mark something off the list. We finished the trunks," said Harry.

"Ah. Good then. Where are Blaise and Theo?"

"Wait," said Ron, "Zabini and Nott? Are _all_ the Slytherins here?"

"No," said Harry. "It's just the four of us so far, and now you." Harry plastered on a grin, and hoped Ron wouldn't lose his head. He quite liked Nott and Zabini, and Malfoy, despite his many faults, really was doing a good thing and doing it well. Harry didn't want to start fighting again. He'd had enough of that, thank you very much.

"Blaise and Theo?" prompted Malfoy.

"In the Den," said Harry. "They wanted to catch some sleep."

Malfoy nodded, dismissing Harry and Ron as unimportant. While a year ago that same nod would have filled Harry with righteous anger, now it made him want to snicker. Malfoy was just so… unintentionally funny.

Gigi began chattering to Malfoy again, and Harry watched as the blond boy pulled down the list and added several new items at Gigi's prompting.

"Harry," hissed Ron, pulling him aside as though Malfoy couldn't hear them in the empty hall, "what the _hell_ is going on here?"

Harry laughed. He was really glad Ron was here, finally. "Come on, Ron. I'll show you the Hufflepuff Den, and fill you in on the way."

-oOoOo-

Potter led Weasley from the Great Hall, and Draco let his shoulders drop. The golden duo, together again. What joy. They were only waiting on Granger now, and then his torment would be complete.

Potter had sent out owls to most of the members of his little defense club, and soon the school would be over-run with Potter lovers, who wouldn't pay Draco one bit of attention, but would look to Potter for their orders. And then just like that all the work Draco had done would be attributed to the Great and Good Harry Potter.

Draco scowled, as the quill slashed violently across the parchment, noting another broken window on the fourth floor.

"Is Master Draco all right?" asked Gigi.

"I'm fine."

The elf didn't look convinced. "I will make Master Draco a coffee. That always makes youse feel better."

A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. "That would be great, Gigi. Thank you."

"Master Draco is being a great help to the elves." And the elf was gone with a small pop.

Draco replaced the list, and wandered out of the hall, intent on digging through the ruin of the library once more. Flitwick had responded to McGonagall's message, and had given the names of a few books to look at, though Draco had yet to find them.

Yet another unpleasant surprise was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall.

Luna Lovegood was leaning against the wall, palms flat and cheek pressed to the stone with her eyes closed, and she was _crooning_.

"Oh," she said, in her dreamy voice. "Don't worry. Everything will be better soon."

Draco just stared.

She opened her eyes, and suddenly he was fixed in her gaze. "Oh, hello Draco."

She'd always said the exact same thing in the exact same way when he'd been ordered to bring food down to the people in the cellar of the Manor. Like she was pleasantly surprised to see him. Like he wasn't one of the people holding her captive. He'd hated it. It made him feel wretchedly guilty for not doing a thing to help her.

"Lovegood. What are you doing?"

"I'm giving Hogwarts a hug." She smiled. "The castle is very pleased with you. She's very glad that you're helping her."

"The castle?"

"Of course. You've been helping her heal. She's very grateful for you."

"Oh. That's… that's great. I'm just on my way to the library."

Luna gave the wall a fond pat. "Would you like some help?"

Draco hesitated before answering. On the one hand, Luna had been held captive in his house for several awful months, and he really didn't want to dwell on that any more than he already was. On the other, he could really use the help, and she _was_ a Ravenclaw.

"Lovegood, why would you want to help me?" he asked, voice a little harsher than he would have liked.

"You were kind to me," she said. "When I was at your house."

Irritated that she didn't just call it what it was, but made it out to sound like a pleasant holiday, he snapped, "How was I kind to you? I never spoke to you."

"I know. The others did. You were just as scared as I was."

Draco couldn't deny the truth in that statement, and didn't want to imagine what the others had said to her. "I suppose so."

She smiled brilliantly, and audaciously hooked her arm around his. "Lead on," she said.

"Right."

-oOoOo-

Pansy Parkinson followed the noise.

She heard Blaise clearly, his voice loud and melodramatic over another choking with laughter.

Upon entering the Great Hall, she stopped and blinked, because the scene didn't make any sense.

Blaise was standing on a table, brandishing his wand and clearly doing a very bad and very over-the-top reenactment of the Dark Lord's final duel (if one could call it that) with Potter. Ron Weasley was bent double, laughing so hard that he was choking, while Potter and Theo looked on. Potter was blushing a deep scarlet, and protesting that he didn't sound like that at all.

"Zabini," she said, catching the attention of all four boys. "Have you been at the pixie dust?"

"Pansy! So glad you could make it, I'm nearly at the best part."

"Oh, no. Please stop," said Potter.

"No, no, go on, Zabini," gasped Weasley.

Mindful of what her last words in Potter's presence had been, she approached the boys cautiously. Potter was not known for his mild temperament after all, nor his great capacity for forgiveness. But he only nodded at her, chagrined smile still on his face, and turned to poke Weasley in the ribs. "Get a hold of yourself, Ron."

"Can't," said the redhead. "S'too funny!"

Pansy sidled up to Theo. "How have you been, Pansy?"

"All right. How about you?"

"Oh, you know… trying to keep busy."

"I'm sorry about your father, Theodore."

He nodded sharply. "He'll get the Kiss. He deserves it."

Pansy wanted to pat Theo's arm or something, but he'd never been one for casual touches—not like Draco who drank affection and attention up like a man starving of thirst—so she settled on nudging him slightly and a small but supportive smile.

Blaise hopped off the table and gallantly took her arm. "Come along, Pansy. I'll show you to your accommodations."

"So hard labor is your idea of a good summer holiday as well, Blaise?"

"It's magic, Parkinson. You'll not even break a nail."

"I'd better not. Really, I don't know what Draco is thinking…"

Blaise hummed a bit. "Well, you know how Draco is with his elaborate plots. I suspect this fits in somewhere."

There was no need to mention that Draco's elaborate plots always backfired spectacularly, but they exchanged bemused smiles all the same.

"And where does it fit into your plot, Zabini?"

"I get to spend the summer with my friends, hopefully get lucky a time or two, and put this whole nasty war business behind me." He smiled lecherously. "Where does this fit into your plots, Miss Parkinson?"

"I quite like your plan, Blaise. That sounds like a very nice summer holiday."

"It will be nice to act our age for once," he said, stopping at a portrait. "Behold your summer accommodations." The portrait swung open and her eyes were assaulted with a riot of bright yellow and black.

"Oh, my God."

"Yes, Pansy. For the summer we are all honorary, loyal, hard-working—"

"Oh, God. Not Hufflepuff."

-oOoOo-

The small group of students and Headmistress were eating dinner in the kitchens, and Harry thought they were all behaving very well, all things considered. Nott mentioned finding a shortcut to the Charms corridor that he'd never seen before, which prompted a discussion among the rest of the secret places they'd come across in their explorations of the castle. While this provoked a heavy sort of silence from Draco's end of the table, and Harry and Ron weren't quite sure what they ought to say on the subject, the rest of them had no compunctions about describing their own discoveries of the castle.

Zabini and Parkinson had the most to share, and Luna drew Malfoy and Professor McGonagall into a conversation about the broken charms in the Slytherin common room, and Harry and Ron did their best to fill in the silences in the 'secret places' discussion without giving too much away regarding a certain map and the many dangerous adventures they'd had in Hogwarts.

Yes, all was going very well—and then Neville arrived.

His hair was windblown and his cheeks flushed, making the scars on his face stand out in stark white relief. He was grinning as he blew through the door, but the smile faded quickly as he took in just who his friends were dining with.

"Hey, Nev," said Ron, oblivious as always.

"Ron," he said, and slowly, like a great cat wary of an attack, taking a seat. "Harry."

"How have you been, Neville? I'm glad you could come," said Harry.

"Here, Neville," said Ron, passing a plate. "Try the chips. They're great."

"No, thanks, Ron. I'm not hungry."

Neville was glaring especially hard at Nott, who had his head down and was now pushing food around on his plate.

"I'm very glad you could join, Mr. Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "How is your grandmother?"

"She's doing well, thank you, Professor. Is Professor Sprout here? I was hoping I could talk to her about the greenhouses and what she wants done."

"Professor Sprout is not here at the moment. She is visiting family. I expect her back sometime next week, though in the meantime I would appreciate anything you could do in the greenhouses, Mr. Longbottom."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "There's a list of damages in the Great Hall, but I'm not as familiar with the greenhouses as you are so I've probably missed some things."

"Sorry?"

"Malfoy has been here for a week and a half, Neville," said Harry. "He's the one who started all this."

If anything, Neville's face grew even harder. "I see. I think I'll go take a look at that list."

He left, and Harry could see the stiffness in his back. "I'll just go with him, then…"

Ron waved him away with a fork full of chips, and the Slytherins seemed to relax again as Neville left the room.

Neville was stomping away down the hall, his hands bunched in fists. "Neville, wait up!" called Harry.

The other boy whirled on him. "What the hell is going on here, Harry? What were you thinking?"

"I—I don't—" Harry had never seen Neville angry, much less had it directed at him.

"Those—those _people_—"

"Look, I know Malfoy isn't the most—"

"Malfoy? What does Malfoy have to do with anything? I'm talking about Nott and Zabini!"

"What? What did they do?"

Neville laughed harshly. "You don't have any idea, do you, Harry? You have no idea what it was like here!"

"I only know what you've already told me, Neville."

He snorted derisively and began walking again towards the Great Hall. "You didn't even ask, did you? Merlin, have you even _talked_ to Ginny?"

"Not exactly," Harry hedged. But there just hadn't been _time_. What with Fred's death, and Ginny spending every free minute with George, and Harry himself getting to know his godson, and tying up loose ends, like giving Malfoy his wand back which had somehow turned into a summer-long reconstruction project… Neville rolled his eyes. "Look, will you just tell me what your problem is?"

"My problem is them! Them and all the others who seemed to delight in the Carrows' idea of punishments! Crucioing us in class! Stringing up first years in the dungeons for days! Laughing about it! Nott getting off on using the Unforgiveables like Cheering Charms!"

"Nott?"

Harry couldn't really wrap his mind around that, as he'd never really noticed Nott during school, and now that he'd spent some time around the other boy all he'd thought was that Nott was rather quiet with a wry sense of humor. Nothing about Nott had struck Harry as the behavior of a Death Eater (which Nott was not, Harry had seen his bare arms) or even as a malicious individual.

"You've no idea what it was like here, Harry! You don't know what they were like, or you wouldn't be sitting down to dinner with them and laughing like you're friends!"

"Oh, bravo, Longbottom. You've completely missed the point, as usual."

The boys turned towards the voice. Pansy had followed them into the hall, she had her arms crossed over her chest and her foot was tapping.

"You were no better, Parkinson," snapped Neville.

"Things were bad for you, Longbottom, because you made them bad for yourself. You and all your friends drawing attention to yourselves, and unable to keep your heads down and just shut the hell up—but what else can one expect from Gryffindors?" She stood nose to nose with Neville and poked his chest with a thin finger. "Do you think we thanked you for getting detentions? Do you think we relished having to cast the Cruciatus Curse on our stupid classmates? Do you think that we liked being forced to do that? Do you think we liked having to act as if we _liked_ it?" She shoved him, and Neville's back hit the wall.

"Why couldn't you all just shut yourselves up in your tower and keep quiet?" she shrieked. "You've no idea how Theo felt after it was his turn to curse you lot! He was sick with it! In the bathroom for hours, and Blaise had to carry him back to the dorms and force calming potions into him! So don't you dare blame this on him, Neville Longbottom, because you did it to yourself!"

"What did you expect us to do, Parkinson? Bow and scrape to those sadistic Death Eaters?"

"I expected you to use your heads! One week into term Blaise created an Apathy Hex so powerful that it lasted a week and he wouldn't do anything, and I had to do all his assignments, and Theo had to force him to eat and get out of bed. But eventually he got it right, and he'd hit all of us with it before we went to Dark Arts class. Cheering charms before Muggle Studies and meal times."

"You expect me to buy that? That you didn't think Carrows' twisted version of Muggle Studies was funny?"

Pansy snorted. "You know nothing. My father owns the second largest media network in Britain. Including a Muggle television network! I'd be willing to bet I know more about Muggles than you do. I've probably spent as much time in their world as any Muggleborn at this school. So, no, Longbottom, I didn't think Muggle Studies was funny—other than what a joke Carrow made out of it.

"And no one knows what my father does for a living, so don't you breathe a word," she glared at Harry. "Neither of you!"

Harry nodded, and Neville looked mutinous.

"What about wanting to hand Harry over to the Death Eaters then? How was that using your fucking head?"

"Neville, I don't—" said Harry, feeling a 'Ron and Hermione argue over Harry' moment coming on, and wanting no part of it.

"I was scared!" screamed Pansy.

"We were all scared! He was the only one who could save us! And you wanted to hand him over to be killed!"

"No one believed that! He'd disappeared! We all thought that was how the rest of our lives were going to be—terror and watching our steps. None of us thought Potter could actually win!"

"Guys, really, it's okay. I don't—"

"Well, why don't you apologize?"

Pansy spluttered. "For what? He went ahead, and handed himself over anyway!"

"That's hardly the point!" yelled Neville.

Pansy shook her head, and rolled her eyes. "Make sure you don't put him in the same dormitory as Theo, Potter. Theo doesn't need to deal with this shit every day." She stalked off.

The hall was quiet, with just the sound of Neville's harsh breathing breaking the hush.

"Well," said Harry. "That was something."

Neville kicked the wall.

"Do you want me to show you to the dormitory?" Harry asked.

"No, I know where the Den is. I'm going out to the greenhouses for a while. I'll see you later, Harry."

"Yeah, okay."

"Sorry about all that."

"No, don't—don't worry about it. I don't know what it was like, you're right."

"Still, I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. You didn't know… _I_ didn't know."

"I don't think any of us did, but I don't think we were supposed to. Sneaky Slytherins and all."

"Yeah."

Neville left, and Harry sighed and slouched against the wall. If even Neville, who was usually so even tempered, was this angry with their Slytherin classmates he didn't even want to think of how the others would react. Especially Ginny.

-oOoOo-

Greenhouse Three was utterly unsalvageable. Neville kicked at a bit of twisted metal, and looked despairingly at the tangle of Venomous Tentacula that had wrapped itself around the broken wall.

He turned at a sound – glass crunching under footsteps, and saw Luna winding her way towards him.

"Giants," she said.

Neville sighed. "Yeah."

"The others look okay."

"The glass is blown out in Greenhouse Two, and Seven is completely over-run by Devil's Snare."

"I see. Perhaps none of it can be fixed." Her voice sounded uncharacteristically downtrodden. Neville didn't like it.

"No," he said. "It will just take some time and effort. That's all. You'll see, Luna."

She planted herself at his shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge. "That's called reverse psychology, what I did just now."

It took him a moment, it always did with Luna, but he broke into a smile.

"You got me."

"Other things can be fixed too, Neville," she said.

His smile dropped, and he nudged at broken glass with the toe of his shoe. "I don't know about that."

"Hogwarts, the Houses, the students… everyone who was hurt. Healing that much hurt takes time and effort too."

"I suppose you're right."

"So does forgiveness."

"Luna, I don't think—"

"Time and effort," she insisted. "We have plenty of the first, but the second… well, you have to want to do that, don't you? And we are none of us Hufflepuffs, so I expect we shall have to work extra hard."

He snorted out a laugh. "Are you ready to forgive them? Even after everything?"

She looked at her shoes, radish earrings swinging, and frowned. "No. Not yet. But I don't blame them, either."

Neville put his hand on her shoulder. He hadn't expected that answer from Luna. He'd never known her to carry a grudge or to even _be_ angry. But he considered her words, and they rang true.

"Someday," she said. "But not today."

"Maybe tomorrow?" he said, trying to inject a hopeful note into the conversation, because he really didn't like seeing Luna feeling like this.

She smiled. "Yes. Perhaps tomorrow."

-oOoOo-

"I think that's all of it," said Harry, as he tossed another armful of clothes onto his bed in the second year boys' dormitory.

He'd taken Pansy's advice and set Neville up in a different dormitory than Nott, and Ron had followed, and it seemed weird not to room with Ron and Neville, even though Harry hadn't wanted to encourage House segregation.

It was all made worse by Zabini rolling his eyes at Harry as he unloaded the wardrobe, and Nott quietly looking the other direction. It was as though the past few days hadn't happened, and they were back to labeling each other 'Gryffindor' and 'Slytherin'. And ne'er the twain shall meet.

Admittedly, it was nice to know he was no longer sharing quarters with Malfoy. Harry still didn't know how to deal with the blond and his recent helpful actions.

"I can't believe how much better the Puff's dorms are," marveled Ron. "How come we don't get this much room?"

"I suppose there just isn't enough space in the Tower to spread us all out like this," Harry replied.

"Still, it's nice." Ron flopped back onto his bed, and crossed his arms beneath his head. "And Neville and I are here now, so you don't have to room with the snakes anymore."

"I didn't mind it. I got along with them well enough."

"Even Malfoy?" Ron asked shrewdly. "I don't see the two of you ever getting on, mate. Not that you'd want to."

"I didn't see much of him. He was in the library most of the time. I mostly spent time with Nott and Zabini."

Ron grunted. "I suppose Zabini isn't so bad. Not all that sure about Nott though. He's a bit shifty."

"He's just quiet."

"Well, it's a shifty sort of quiet."

"It is not," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"I expect I'll get used to it. S'not like the snakes are going anywhere, and summer's only just started. I'll play nice if they do."

"Will you really? Even with Malfoy?"

"Sure," said Ron, waving a careless hand. "Why not?"

Harry, suspicious and amused, said, "This has something to do with Hermione, doesn't it?"

"Does not," Ron muttered quickly, but his ears turned red.

"All right. But I'm sure she'll think you're being very mature if you play nice with the Slytherins."

"You think?"

"Yeah," laughed Harry. "I'll bet you get a snog out of it."

Ron threw a pillow at him. "Shut up, Harry." But he looked pleased, nonetheless.

-oOoOo-

The windows of the Hufflepuff common room looked to the east, which was rather unfortunate if one had fallen asleep on a sofa there, as Draco learned the next morning.

He squinted against the glare of the dawn, made that much worse by the over-abundance of yellow in the common room. He _had_ to fix the windows in Slytherin, he thought. There was none of this awful morning sunlight in Slytherin, where the light was either cast by lamps, or faintly green and filtered through the lake.

"Did you sleep out here?"

Draco started, and nearly fell off the sofa. Potter was dressed for the day, though he looked like he'd rolled out of bed and decided to wear the same clothes that he'd slept in, as they were very wrinkly. Draco scowled at him. Potter always looked like that. Wrinkled, sloppily dressed, and his hair… Draco hated Potter's hair. It made him want to reach for a comb and a bottle of hair potion, and attack the unruly mess until it behaved.

But the hair was Potter all over. Draco suspected there was about as much hope for the hair as the boy it was attached to.

"What does it look like?" Draco snapped.

"I was just—oh, never mind."

Draco rolled his eyes and snapped for a house-elf. He utterly loathed mornings, and outright refused to deal with anyone until he'd had some coffee. Dealing with Potter would call for several cups of the stuff.

The elf arrived, flashing a smile, which Draco had no patience for.

"Gigi, I need—"

"I has Master Draco's coffee, sir." She snapped her fingers and a tray appeared on the table in front of Draco. "Gigi knows that Master can't live without it."

"Smart elf," he mumbled, inhaling the steam.

"Coffee?"

Draco turned and sneered at Potter, who was hovering behind the sofa and looking needy.

"You're still here?"

Potter sighed, sounding annoyed. "Yes. Still here. Can I have some?"

Draco clutched the pot of coffee jealously. "No. Get your own."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Just a cup."

Draco growled.

"Gigi will get Mister Harry Potter a cup," said the elf.

Potter, the obnoxious prat, smiled gratefully at the elf and without even asking, sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. "Thanks."

A steaming cup of coffee appeared in front of Potter, who sniffed the steam in an uncouth way, and then moaned in satisfaction as he sipped. Draco was disgusted.

"We never had coffee at the Gryffindor table," Potter said. "Only tea."

Draco ignored him and prepared his morning salvation, adding an extra sugar, because he felt he was going to need it.

"Did you have coffee at the Slytherin table?"

Great Merlin, as if Draco didn't hate Potter enough already, the prat had to tack on being a dreaded morning person. "Of course we had coffee. It was the only thing that kept us from—" Draco realized belatedly that saying that coffee kept Slytherins from killing their annoying classmates probably wasn't the right thing to say given current company in the current climate.

Potter snorted anyway.

Draco resolved to ignore Potter until he went away.

Pansy stomped into the common room looking inordinately angry, even if it was early morning and Pansy liked mornings about as much as Draco did. She winced at the brightness of the room, and dropped into a chair near Draco.

"Is that coffee, Draco?" she asked, and fell upon it like it was her own personal holy grail. Draco graciously allowed her a cup.

Pansy sipped with a relieved sort of sigh. "Lovegood _sings_ in the shower," she grumbled. "Can you believe it?"

"Yes," said Draco.

"She makes a damned good alarm clock. Though why anyone would want to wake up at such an ungodly hour…"

Potter chuckled, and the two Slytherins glared darkly at him. Laughter did not occur for Slytherins till well after breakfast.

"Great Merlin, Draco, did you sleep out here?"

Draco closed his eyes and leaned back into the sofa. "Unfortunately."

"You look awful."

"Fuck off."

Pansy gave an acquiescing sort of hum, and there was blessed silence for a moment.

"Why are you two up so early?"

"Sun. Bright," Draco offered.

"Couldn't sleep," said Potter. There was something off in his voice, though, and Draco knew it was a lie, but didn't much care about Potter's sleeping habits.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, noting this as well, and turned back to Draco. "What are we meant to do today, Draco?"

Draco gestured towards a pile of parchments on the table. "I made a list of things that need to be done before the architects and curse breakers come on Monday. I'll hand out assignments at breakfast."

"Lovely," sneered Pansy.

"No one forced you to come," Draco said lightly.

She snorted. "Right."

Draco smirked. His letter to Pansy had been a touch heavy-handed, but she shouldn't have expected anything different.

"Why did you come?" asked Potter curiously.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Because we're fine upstanding members of society, Potter."

"No, really," he insisted.

"Word to the wise, Potter," said Pansy, "Slytherins like to be enigmatic. Learn to live with it."

"I suffer from an unhealthy amount of curiosity. I don't think that will happen."

"Well, you know what they say about curiosity," Pansy served back.

"Let me guess, cats die?"

"Cats? Potter, you are truly unhinged." She stood, trying to look haughty and failing. "I need to dress for the day. Hopefully Lovegood has finished caterwauling."

Needing to shower and dress as well, and needing even more to be out of Potter's presence, Draco left with Pansy without a backwards glance.

-oOoOo-

Leaving the Muggle world for the Wizarding one was a shameful relief for Hermione. Her parents had been so angry with her—no matter how she'd tried to explain her actions as being for the best and only to keep them safe, they refused to understand. Her father had yelled—actually _yelled_—that it wasn't up to her to protect _them_, that protection was _their_ job, and her mother had been quiet, and had frowned at Hermione's wand whenever she'd seen it.

Her father had shouted that ought never have allowed her to attend Hogwarts, that the wizarding world had done nothing but put her in unnecessary danger, and Hermione hadn't had the heart to argue with him.

Whether her parents liked it or not the wizarding world was where she belonged. She was not a Muggle.

Seeing Hogwarts again, no matter its condition, was a balm to her soul. Even better would be seeing Ron and Harry again. It felt like it had been years, rather than only a week.

She met Neville and Luna on their way out to the greenhouses, and unsurprisingly, they told her that they had just left Ron in the kitchens.

Hermione's first glimpse of her boyfriend sent her heart skittering in her chest. There was no logical cause for it, but Ron looked taller, broader in the shoulders, and altogether more handsome than when she'd seen him last.

He had a stack of toast wrapped up in a napkin in one hand, and was absently shutting the painting of the bowl of fruit with the other.

"Ron!" she called.

He turned, and a brilliant smile lit up his face. He chucked the toast, ran to meet her, and whirled her into his arms. "You're back!" he cried, and kissed her.

She laughed giddily, feeling happier than she had in ages.

"Yes, I'm back."

-oOoOo-

It was just Draco's luck that he wound up leaving the Den at the same time as Potter, and that they were both headed to the Great Hall.

"What do you suppose I should be doing today?" Potter asked.

All this civility was wearing on Draco's nerves. Where was the easy hostility? The biting comments? The rabid insults? He suspected Potter was at fault—he usually was—but Draco hadn't done much to put Potter in his place. That changes now, he decided.

"It all depends on what you're capable of, Scarhead. Which isn't much." Unless there was a broomstick or a Dark Lord involved, Potter was useless.

A glimpse at the other boy was enough to know that they were nearing being back on track. Potter's face was pinched with annoyance.

"I'm capable of just as much as you are, Malfoy."

"I doubt that very much."

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it closed again. No doubt wanting to keep their fragile truce going.

"Oh, go on, Potter," Draco drawled. "Just say it. Don't be afraid to hurt my feelings."

"What feelings?" he snapped.

Draco stopped and grabbed the other boy's elbow. "Look, Potter, we are not friends. We will never be friends, and while I'm very grateful you didn't leave me to die in the Room that doesn't mean we have to be nice to each other. I don't want to be nice. I don't want to owe you anything, so just—"

"You don't owe me anything!"

"It's called a Life Debt, you ignoramus."

"And your Mum saved my life not an hour later, so I think we're even, Malfoy. I'm not—"

"She did _what_?"

Potter waved this away. "It doesn't matter. We're even, so you don't owe me anything. I don't see what's so wrong about being civil to each other."

"Potter, we've never been civil. I don't even know how we'd do it, and what's more, I don't want to! I want things to go back to the way they were before. I want things to be normal!"

"Normal as in at each other's throats for no good reason?"

"Oh, there was _plenty_ of good reason," Draco snarled.

Potter waved his arms around like a demented monkey. "I don't want things to be the way they were, I want things to be better!"

"I sincerely hope you're speaking in generalities, Potter."

"Oh, sod the hell off, Malfoy." And Potter stomped away.

"That's more like it," muttered Draco.

-oOoOo-

Ginny looked at Hogwarts and wanted to cry. The castle looked as broken as she felt. The memory of Fred's body lying so still in the Great Hall washed over her. Her brother and so many others… Ginny shook the memories away, and blinked quickly to dispel any threatening tears. She had spent the last week thinking of nothing but Fred, and she was tired of feeling sad and wrecked.

Far across the lawn, near the greenhouses, a glint of gold caught her eye.

"Hello, Ginny!" called Luna.

Ginny waved back, heartened by the presence of a friend, and slowly ascended the steps into the Entrance Hall, thinking of how she used to skip up them.

The summer would be a pleasant one though. Being at Hogwarts with her friends, with no classes, no Death Eaters, and no war hanging over their heads… Ginny was looking forward to it.

It was lucky, almost like fate, she thought, that the first person she saw upon entering the school was Harry.

True, he had a dark look on his face, and was stomping, and looked like he'd just come from potions class where Snape had been in a particularly foul mood… but Snape was dead. _And good riddance_, thought Ginny. No matter what Harry said about the man, she would not forgive him for allowing the Carrow's to run wild over the school. She _could not_ forgive him for the atrocities that he had allowed to occur.

"Hi, Harry," she said, voice echoing through the hall, though the words had been spoken softly.

He started, and looked at her a moment, eyes going wide. He shot a glance behind himself, and bit his lip.

"Hey, Ginny."

Feeling abruptly twelve years old and hating it, she hugged herself. _At least I'm not blushing_, she thought. Another glance at Harry made her relax. He looked at least twice as awkward as she felt.

"That's not much of a greeting for your girlfriend," she teased.

He smiled, and pulled her into his arms for a hug. "Are you my girlfriend?" he asked.

Ginny buried her face in his t-shirt and held him tighter. _What a silly prat_, she thought.

"I'm yours if you want me."

He kissed her hair. "I want."

"Good," she said, and pulled back to mock glare at him. "Then kiss me, you berk."

He laughed, and Ginny grinned at the sound. He was about to do just that, threading his fingers through her hair and tilting her chin up when—

"How sweet. The hero and his damsel reunited."

Harry sighed, and released her completely, throwing an irritated look at Malfoy.

"What the hell is he doing here?" asked Ginny.

Malfoy smirked, looking just as cocksure as he always had—if one could forget that pinched, white look he'd worn often this past year. Ginny hated it. How could he look like nothing had touched him, like he'd waltzed through the war, and come out the other end perfect and preening with not one shining lock of hair out of place.

"He's—he's here because…" said Harry. The smirk wiped cleanly from Malfoy's face.

"Potter, what exactly did you tell people in those letters? I suppose you made it out like this was all your idea," snarled Malfoy.

"What is he talking about, Harry?"

"I did not," Harry shot back. "I said we needed help fixing up the school. That's all."

"So you didn't mention my part in this? At all?" said Malfoy.

Harry looked uncomfortable. "I'm not trying to take this from you, Malfoy. I just didn't know if people would help if they knew…"

"If they knew that Slytherins were here? This is one of those 'good reasons' I was talking about, Potter." Malfoy glared hatefully at Harry. "We're supposed to meet with McGonagall at nine. You get your people together and I'll get mine, and you will damn well set the record straight."

Ginny didn't bother to watch Malfoy stalk away, though Harry did.

"The Slytherins are here?" she asked, her voice remarkably calm for all the anger boiling in her stomach.

"It's just Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini, and Nott." He was still looking after Malfoy, and frowning.

"Just," she said shortly. "We're to spend the summer with them? God, Harry, do you have any idea what they did?"

"I have an idea," he said, turning his frown onto her.

"Then how can you expect us to even be near them?" she shouted, anger getting the better of her.

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "I foolishly thought that the war had ended and we might be able to put all that old hatred of each other behind us and move forward!"

"Malfoy is a Death Eater!"

"I know that, Ginny."

"Do you? Then why do you want to spend the summer with him?"

"I know better than you what Malfoy is!"

"Why are you defending him?" she shouted. "You can't possibly expect me to spend another minute in the same vicinity as that—that— And the others! Do you know what they did?"

"Yes," he snarled. "Neville told me."

"Did you listen?!"

"What is wrong with all of you?" he said. "The war is over! There are more important things to do now than holding onto your hatred of all things Slytherin!"

"That's not what I'm doing!" she shrieked. "You don't know what it was like here!"

"I'm so sick of hearing that! Just fucking explain it to me then!"

Ginny gave a wordless cry of frustration, and felt as though she would start to cry any moment. This was not how things were supposed to go. She turned on her heel and made for the doors.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm going to find Luna," she snapped. "Don't come after me."

"Oh, don't worry," he snarled.

And with that, the tears started, but she wouldn't let Harry see.

-oOoOo-

A/N: All right. Just to make things clear. This is not going to be one of those all the dark people are right and all the light people are wrong stories. I hate those. This is an 'everyone is wrong' story. The war, while it has a winner, didn't really make heroes out of anybody (except for Harry, of course), and even those who were cast as villains weren't actually. It's all a matter of perspective, as the children will learn.

Reviews are love.


	3. Danger, Will Robinson

A/N: Ah, chapter three is when this story gets rolling properly. I know, I know… it only took me 15K words to get there. But, dude, I did so love writing this story, and I wanted to savor it. Plus, I like a good build-up to romance… of course, I may have taken it a bit far… there's a bit of a wait for that… like a 50K wait till a bit of a payoff. Yikes, I hope you stick around that long.

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Three:_

_Danger, Will Robinson_

Not ten seconds after Ginny left, Harry wanted to call her back. He'd been angry with Malfoy, and the conversation with Ginny had spiraled out of control, and then he'd taken his anger out on her. She didn't deserve that, even if she was being narrow-minded and backwards.

Hell, even _Ron_ was trying to get along with the snakes…

It was going to be a very, very long summer.

Harry scrubbed at his eyes, and went off in search of his best friend. He found him in an alcove by the kitchens snogging Hermione like they'd been apart for ages rather than just a week.

Ignoring the tongues and wandering hands, he said, "Hey, you're back!"

Hermione let out a surprised yelp, and tried to detach herself from Ron, but the redhead wasn't having it. "Hi, Harry," she said, allowing Ron to wrap her up in his arms.

His friends were so adorable that it was disgusting.

"How are your parents?" he asked.

Hermione's face fell. "Well, they have their memories back, and they're back at home… but they aren't very happy with me."

"But you were just trying to keep them safe!" Ron objected.

"I know that," she said, looking as if she may cry. "But I don't think they understood before what magic was capable of—what _I_ was capable of—and, well, I think they're a bit scared of me now."

"Oh," Harry said uselessly. Ron looked equally unsure of what to say. "I'm sure they'll come around. It must have been a bit of a shock."

"Yes, well…" Hermione looked eager to change the subject, so Harry said, "Ginny's here."

"Oh! How did that go?" she asked.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We had a row about the Slytherins."

"Bad luck, mate," said Ron.

"The Slytherins?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Malfoy started this whole reconstruction project," said Ron.

"Oh, I thought it was Harry's idea," she said, looking to Harry for an explanation.

"I went to Malfoy Manor to give Malfoy his wand back, and his mum told me that he was here. The Slytherin dormitory flooded—"

"Oh, no," cried Hermione. "Really?"

"Yeah," continued Harry. "Zabini and Nott were diving for the other student's trunks and things, so I helped out for a bit, and then McGonagall said she needed help with some things before the architects come next week, so the four of us sent letters out to our friends."

"But what does Malfoy have to do with—"

"He's been here since the day after the battle," Ron explained. "He's been working with the house-elves, making up lists of damages, and making sure things get done…"

"I see," she said, looking like that was the exact opposite of what she meant. "But why is he doing it?"

"I expect he's looking for points for when the Ministry finally gets around to putting the little ferret on trial."

Harry started. "You think they'll put him on trial?"

Ron and Hermione looked at him. "Yes, of course," said Hermione.

"But he didn't really _do_ anything," Harry protested.

"Uh, mate, he nearly killed me last year."

Harry flushed. He'd forgotten that. How could he have forgotten that… But still— "But everything Malfoy did was because Voldemort had threatened his family."

"Yes," said Hermione slowly. "But he still followed Voldemort. He's Marked."

"But—"

"I expect that once the Ministry is back on its feet they will announce some sort of Amnesty Bill. If they were to prosecute everyone who followed orders under Voldemort they would have to try half of the Ministry. He was all but running it when Harry defeated him."

Ron groaned. "Oh, that means Umbridge will go free."

"Probably," Hermione agreed, though she looked as if she'd do anything to change that.

"Malfoy is just as much a victim of this war as we are," said Harry, not willing to let this topic go yet. "If not more so, because he was closer to Voldemort. You guys didn't see… sometimes he was in my visions, and he always looked terrified."

Ron looked as though this pronouncement pained him, but Hermione looked thoughtful. "If there is a trial, and you feel this strongly about it, Harry, then perhaps you should be a witness for Malfoy. If he's in danger of going to Azkaban your testimony might save him."

Harry pondered this on the way back to the Great Hall where McGonagall wanted to meet with everyone to check their progress, and hand out assignments for the day. Hermione and Ron went out to the greenhouses to collect Ginny, Neville, and Luna. The Slytherins were already in the Hall, gathered around Malfoy and speaking in heated whispers.

Malfoy sneered at Harry, and Pansy followed suit, so Harry could be sure that they were talking about him. He dropped into a chair not far away.

Harry didn't know what he could say to dispel the tension. It was apparently his fault that his friends were acting like prats. He sighed and crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling. The sky was a perfect blue. He hoped the job Malfoy gave him would be outside.

Zabini dropped into the chair beside him.

"You talking to me again?" Harry asked.

"Don't be such a girl, Potter." Harry smiled. "This school can only handle one drama queen, and Draco's got that all wrapped up."

"I wouldn't dare challenge him for it."

"You don't need to. You've cornered the market on brooding hero."

Harry snorted. "And what's your label, Zabini?"

"Shameless flirt," he said, unabashedly.

"I've not noticed."

Zabini scoffed. "Course you haven't. I haven't worked my charms on you. Yet."

Harry laughed, but Zabini raised a serious eyebrow, and said only, "Oh, you'll see."

Harry felt a stab of alarm—not really because Zabini was a bloke, if there was a bloke flirting with him he could do a hell of a lot worse than Blaise Zabini, who was unnaturally handsome—but flirting in general scared Harry. He was lousy at it, and he was only lucky that Ginny seemed to find his ineptitude endearing.

Though as she entered the Hall with the others, casting him a dark look, it seemed that 'endearing' was the farthest thing from what she was thinking of him.

"Trouble with the Weaslette?" asked Zabini.

"You could say that," Harry grumbled.

Zabini hummed curiously. "Don't worry, Hero, I'm sure you'll patch it up."

Harry wasn't so sure, as he wasn't ready to give up his newfound attitude towards the Snakes, and Ginny wasn't the type to compromise.

Further conversation was averted by the timely arrival of Professor McGonagall, looking stern as usual.

She conferred briefly with Malfoy, who gestured towards the List and at a roll of parchment in his hand. Eventually, she nodded and waved him off.

"Miss Granger, if you would I'd like you to assist Mr. Malfoy in the library today."

Hermione looked as though McGonagall had just given her a treat instead of sentencing her to a day spent with Malfoy, but Harry supposed that for Hermione anything could be borne if there were books present.

He abruptly remembered the state of the library, and wished he could see Hermione's reaction to it. Harry was sure she would have the mess back in order within days. If anyone could do it, Hermione could.

The professor asked Neville for an update on the greenhouses, and several items were added to the list. She sent Neville, Luna, and a determined Ginny back outside, with orders to not tangle with anything they could not handle.

McGonagall selected Ron and Pansy to help her for the afternoon to repair the gargoyles that guarded the staffroom, as well as the one that stood at the base of the Headmistresses Office, as they had been smashed in the battle.

Harry, Zabini and Nott were left, and McGonagall handed Harry a bit of parchment.

"I'd like you boys to go diving into Slytherin again and to try these spells on the window that shattered. Make a note of what works and what doesn't. We'll need a temporary fix until we can work out a permanent solution to the problem. I'd like to be able to get the water out before the architects come."

Zabini plucked the paper from Harry's hand and perused the spells. "I'm going to need to look some of these up," he said.

"Practice anywhere you like, so long as you take the spells down when you've finished," she said briskly. "Also remember that spells move sluggishly through water, you'll have to exert extra effort."

She gave the three of them a stern look. "And please, please be careful. If you grow tired, I want you out of the water immediately. I won't have anyone drowning."

They mumbled an agreement.

"I will see you at lunch, and you will inform me of your progress."

"Yes, Professor."

Zabini fetched a compendium of charms from his trunk (apparently it was a class at which he excelled) and the three boys practiced the charms on a doorway in the Den until they were certain they had them right.

Harry was looking forward to going into the flooded dungeons again, if only because it was fun and strange to swim through the halls of Hogwarts, and to investigate Slytherin House at his leisure.

The spells did move sluggishly under the water, but this only made the boys more determined. Nott and Zabini especially wanted to see their dormitory fixed.

The spells worked best when one drew their wand around the area they wanted to seal as they chanted the spell repeatedly. It was difficult to tell if the spells would hold under pressure, but the boys had to try, so they tested the spells by throwing their weight against it, or trying to shove a desk chair through the opening.

They'd been at it for quite some time, and had only one spell left to test out. Harry drew his wand around the circumference of the window, and tested it with one hand. It gave slightly, but did not break.

Nott was making notes of their findings with a bit of parchment and a charcoal pencil charmed to resist the water. The boy nodded as he marked the reaction down.

Harry went onto the second stress test, throwing himself bodily into the spell.

He could feel the net of spell work stretching against his shoulders, and then abruptly the charm collapsed. Taking his Bubble-Head Charm along with it. He was not prepared for it to fail, and inhaled water on a startled gasp.

Nott's eyes went wide, and Zabini yelled something, but Harry couldn't hear over his panic. There was no way he could get to the surface in time.

Nott tried to cast a spell, but the new Bubble Head wouldn't take, because they were underwater and the spell had no source of air to draw from.

Harry abruptly decided that he would swim for it, and hopefully someone would be able to revive him if he didn't make it in time.

He began to swim, but Zabini grabbed him around the waist and pulled him in close. Harry couldn't hear what Blaise was yelling, and he panicked, trying to break free. The other boy's Bubble Head Charm brushed against his face, and then Blaise's wand came up and he cast something and then…

There was air. Harry coughed and sputtered, drawing in great heaving lungfuls of it.

"You all right there, Potter?" asked Zabini. The other boy was very close, and still had his arms wrapped tightly around Harry's middle.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Thanks. What did you do?"

"I pulled you into my charm. There was no way you'd make it to the surface in time. You'd have drowned."

"Fucking Merlin," moaned Nott. "That was close. Can you imagine what they'd do to us if you drowned down here, Potter?"

Harry could imagine all too well. He sagged against Blaise, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Your tact knows no bounds, Theo," Blaise said dryly.

Theo winced. "Well, it's true."

"We should get to the top," said Blaise. "I don't know how long this charm can hold two people."

"How do we swim like this?" said Harry.

"Don't you worry about that, you'll only get in the way. Theo can drag us, you just hold onto me and don't leave the area of the charm, for Merlin's sake."

Harry was too tired to argue, and just wrapped his arms around Blaise and allowed himself to be towed to the surface.

-oOoOo-

Hermione was horrified, absolutely horrified, by the state of the library. She might have let out a scream of dismay upon entering that hallowed room, and Malfoy had laughed at her. She took no notice and instantly called up several house-elves.

House-elf rights were all well and good, and yes, someday she would do something about that, but for now she desperately needed their help.

Malfoy had left her to it, and settled himself at a table and began to read. Hermione wanted to know what he was researching, but first things first. She wouldn't be able to help if she couldn't find the resources necessary, so putting the library to rights was her first priority.

Little did she know that she'd fallen right into Draco's plot—he needed the library in order again, but couldn't be bothered with such an onerous task when there were more important things (like Slytherin) to take care of.

One by one she levitated the bookshelves back into place, while the elves moved the scattered books to the side. By the time she'd gotten all the shelves upright it was nearly lunchtime.

The elves left, politely informing her that they would be back to help her in the afternoon, but they were meant to be in the kitchens at this time. She shook her head wearyingly. This was the nicest the elves had ever been to her, when she'd been barking orders at them to move the books to the side and back again.

"Are you finished screeching?" asked Malfoy.

"Until after lunch," she sang. She felt good about the progress she'd made, and wasn't about to let Malfoy get her down. She sat across from him and tugged a few discarded books towards herself, reading the titles. They didn't seem to have any particular theme, but the one Malfoy had been referencing the most was a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ from the sixteenth century, and as such Hermione's interest was piqued.

"What are you researching?" she asked.

He sighed, and pushed the book he was looking at away. "Shield Charms, Barrier Charms, Sealing Charms… Charms to keep the Slytherin dormitory from flooding, in other words."

"Oh," she said, her mind already trying to work out a solution, or where she could look to find a solution. "Can I see the notes you have?"

"No," he said, pulling his parchments jealousy closer. "Not until you've finished with that mess you've made."

"But—"

"No, Granger. I know how you get. You clean up those books, and then I will let you play with the notes."

"I don't appreciate your tone."

"I don't appreciate your face."

"You are so immature."

He smirked. "I'm trying."

"So, why are you doing this? Harry said you started this whole reconstruction project."

Malfoy twirled a quill between his fingers. "As you may have guessed, this—" He pulled up his sleeve, to show her his Dark Mark. It was fading slowly, just a shadow of the livid black it had once been. "This is going to cause me a bit of trouble. I thought the Wizengamot might go easy on me if I started to repent early. Community service and all."

He said it in a drawl, like it didn't matter, like he wasn't terrified of being thrown in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

Hermione grabbed his wrist, ignoring his indignant yelp, and dragged his arm closer to her face. "Has it been fading every day since?" she asked.

"What are you doing?" He tried to shake her away, but she just held tighter.

"Answer the question."

"A bit, I suppose."

"Who knows that you're Marked?"

"Potter, for one."

"Harry's not going to say anything. Nor will Ron and I."

"How very noble and foolish of you."

She ignored him, and prodded at the Mark with her wand.

"What are you doing? Don't you know that's how he—"

"Oh, relax," she snapped. "He's gone. Dead. Kaput. He can't answer his own damned summons any longer."

Malfoy flushed, and allowed her to continue prodding. From what she could tell the magic that held the Mark in his skin was fading, and within a month she suspected that his arm would be unblemished. She told Malfoy this.

"So I guess I just have to hope that the Ministry forgets about me for a month or two, and then I can deny it all I like?"

"I didn't say that," she said. Though that had been what she was driving at. Harry, for whatever reason, seemed worried about Malfoy's fate. This news might cheer him up a bit.

"Whatever, Granger."

"I think it's really nice that you're helping out like this."

"Don't get any crazy ideas. I'm still the same person I always was. I'm helping out for purely selfish reasons."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but so he couldn't see. Like she cared whether he was doing this to be selfish or not. She only cared that it was getting done, and Malfoy was a competent leader, and as demanding a prefect as she herself had been. They ought to have been Heads together this past year. She sighed, thinking of what she'd missed because of this war. She'd wanted to be Head Girl for seven years…

"Who was Head Girl?" she asked.

"You were," he said, as though she was being stupid on purpose.

"But who took my place?"

"Padma Patil helped out a fair bit. I think she was miffed that she never got to wear the badge. Which serves her right. She was a shrew."

Hermione stifled a laugh.

-oOoOo-

Granger wasn't a bad sort, Draco supposed, when you weren't competing with her for top marks. Then he hated her Brainy Bushiness with an intensity rivaled only by his loathing of Harry Potter. None of this meant that he was going to stoop to being friendly with her.

"I think it's nearly time for lunch," she said.

On their way down, they ran into Weasley and Pansy, and Granger hurried off with Weasley, and Pansy attached herself to Draco.

"And how was your morning?" he asked.

"Tolerable," Pansy said. "McGonagall got the gargoyles fixed, and Weasley wasn't nearly as obnoxious as he usually is. And how was your time spent with Granger?"

Pansy hated Granger, possibly just as much as he hated Potter, but Draco still didn't know the reason behind their animosity.

"It was fine."

Theodore, dripping wet, ran up the stairs and stopped at the sight of them, looking relieved. "Draco, we need help."

"What happened?" he asked. "Did something happen to Blaise?"

"No, no, Blaise is fine. Come on!"

Draco hurried after him, trying to keep up, but Theo was running flat out towards the dungeons. If it wasn't Blaise who was in trouble, that only meant that it could be Potter who'd floundered into danger yet again.

Just beyond where the flooding was shallowest, with merely an inch of water wetting the stones, was Blaise holding an unconscious Harry Potter and slapping at his face.

"What happened?" Draco snapped, sliding to his knees beside the two boys.

"His Bubble Head Charm failed," said Blaise. "I was able to pull him into mine, but he wasn't able to breathe for about a minute. He was fine until we got up here, and he just passed out."

If it was anyone else, the Slytherins wouldn't be in such a panic and would pass the problem off to the appropriate authority figure, but it was the Boy Who Lived Twice, and if he died in their company…

"I think he needs an Blood Oxygenating Potion—Pansy, do you know what they look like?"

"No," she said, wringing her hands.

"I do," said Theo.

"Go to the infirmary," Draco ordered. "See if Pomfrey left any. I can get into Snape's rooms. He might have left some."

Theo ran back up the stairs, and Draco turned back to his friends. "Make sure he keeps breathing. Pansy, make sure his heart keeps beating."

"What do I do if it stops?" she cried.

"Just deal with it, Pans!"

Draco roughly broke through the myriad of wards on the door to Snape's private quarters. Snape took his potions seriously, which was no surprise, and kept them in an ornate glass fronted cabinet in his private office. Draco broke through the wards on this as well, wondering all the while why this was suddenly so easy, and rifled through the hanging vials for the potion.

There was a rack of them, glittering pearly white, and Draco grabbed the whole thing. Potter would need to take more than one over the next few days if he wanted to live.

He hurried back to the hall, Blaise had moved Potter to a more comfortable position holding the unconscious boy against his chest, and Pansy's fingers looked as though they were glued to Potter's neck.

Draco dropped to his knees, pulled the cork out of a vial with his teeth, and he and Pansy coaxed Potter to swallow.

"Come on, Potter," muttered Blaise. "Don't be a little bitch."

Pansy laughed, a hysterical note in it.

"Someone hit him with an 'Ennervate'," said Draco. He hoped to Merlin this worked. He didn't have any idea what was really wrong with Potter, this was only a guess, but a good one as Gigi had forced the same potion on him a week or so ago after he'd nearly drowned in the same dungeons.

Pansy cast the spell, and they all let out sighs of relief as Potter's eyes blinked sleepily open.

"Wuzzgoinon?" he mumbled.

"You passed out," Blaise said. "You didn't have enough oxygen in your blood."

"Oh."

Footsteps pounded towards them, and they all tensed, but relaxed when it turned out to be Theo, holding a vial of the same potion Draco had found in Snape's stores.

"Oh, thank fucking Merlin," said Theo, when he saw Potter was awake, and bent over his knees trying to get his breath back.

Blaise dropped his head against the wall, and ran his hand through Potter's messy wet hair. To Draco's surprise, Potter didn't pull away, but relaxed further into Blaise's chest and shut his eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Blaise, who gave a little shrug and did the hair thing again.

"Potter, are you going to tell anyone what happened?" asked Draco.

Potter frowned, and shook his head. "No. They'll only worry."

Draco nodded, glad he didn't need to run control on this situation on top of everything else he had going on. "Can you fake being well enough through lunch?"

Potter nodded, and tried to stand up, but needed Blaise's help to get on his feet. This would never do. What Potter needed was to be in the hospital wing being endlessly fussed over by Madam Pomfrey.

"This isn't going to work," said Pansy. "You look like crap."

"It'll be fine," assured Potter. "Can I take a Pepper-Up with this stuff?" he asked, gesturing to the empty vial in Draco's hand.

"I—I think so," said Draco, looking to Theo for confirmation. But the other boy only shrugged. Draco had always been the best at potions, but here Potter was putting his damn well being in Draco's hands, and he didn't have a solid answer. "Theo, go get one from Snape's rooms. All the wards are down."

Potter downed the Pepper-Up like a shot, not even looking worried about possible ingredient interactions. But he was able to stop leaning so heavily on Blaise, and color began to return to his face.

"That's better," said Pansy, casting drying charms all around. "Let's go to lunch."

Blaise hovered over Potter as they left the dungeons, keeping close in case the boy fainted again. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but he was glad that Blaise was taking care of what he couldn't. He wouldn't be seen clucking over Potter like a mother hen, and wouldn't do anything but what he had to do to keep the boy from dying of his current injuries.

Potter stumbled upon entering the Great Hall, and Draco's heart flew to his throat. But Blaise covered nicely.

"Potter, you clumsy sod. If you want to be close to me, all you have to do is say so. There's no need for these games."

Potter laughed blushing, and elbowed the other boy lightly. "You wish, Zabini."

"Yes, I do," he purred, throwing an arm around Potter's shoulders, ostensibly because Zabini was known as something of a flirt, but really to ensure Potter didn't take a tumble and give the game away.

The others were already in the Hall. The Great Hall was in desperate need of some work, and Draco thought he should make sure that it was scheduled to be fixed sooner rather than later if they were going to be using the room often.

Only one House table was present, running down the middle of the hall, far away from any damage that would cause one to twist an ankle in a crack, and out of the way of any potential falling masonry. And worse still, the number of non-Slytherins had increased since this morning.

Potter's bookends made a decent enough buffer zone between the Slytherins and the new hostile forces, some who were glaring and others who were whispering heatedly to their neighbor. The Weasel and Granger alone looked indifferent to the Slytherin's entrance, but they were focusing on Potter's slightly unsteady walk to the table.

The Girl Weasel looked as though she wanted to fry Zabini alive with the force of her stare.

Potter smiled at the new arrivals from under Zabini's arm, and Draco could tell he was trying to look as steady on his feet as possible.

Granger, showing a remarkable amount of perception, pushed the chair nearest her out for Potter, and he gratefully dropped into it. Zabini sat at Potter's side, sending the other boy a wink.

Draco thought he was trying rather too hard to keep up the pretence.

"I'm glad you guys came," said Potter. "There's a lot to do, and we could use all the help."

The Irish bloke, Finnigan, looked at Potter as though he'd finally gone round the twist.

"Harry, what are you doing with these Snakes?"

-oOoOo-

Inwardly, Harry rolled his eyes. Would the accusations never stop?

"Zabini, Nott and I were testing out some charms in Slytherin. Their dorm flooded."

Seamus glared around. "What, they're like your friends now?"

Harry sent him a look, irritated beyond measure, and disregarded Seamus entirely. He turned to Hermione and asked, "What's for lunch? I'm starving."

Zabini chuckled beside him.

"Harry!" said Seamus. "Explain yourself!"

"No. I'm done talking about this. Once you've grown up you can ask me again. I've had a hell of a morning and I'm not in the mood to deal with your attitude, Finnigan."

"Harry, that's not fair," said Hermione.

"You explain it to them, then," snapped Harry.

"Here, Potter," said Zabini pleasantly. "Have a sandwich."

"Thanks, Blaise."

Seamus glowered, and Harry had to admit that Zabini wasn't making things any better by grinning at the Irish boy smugly, nor by waggling his eyebrows at Ginny, who looked on the verge of either tears or an apoplectic fit.

And while the other students still glared and whispered, the Slytherins merely ate their lunch and chatted amongst themselves.

"How did those charms work out?" asked Malfoy.

"This one," said Nott pointing to the list, "and, ahem, _this_ one, failed entirely."

"I think we could make it work if we layered them up," said Harry. "For a temporary fix, anyway, until we can repair the windows."

Malfoy nodded, and made a few notations.

"We'll need an anchor stone to fuel the spells," said Blaise.

"Can't you just anchor them to the castle?" said Malfoy.

"McGonagall or a Head of House could, but students can't draw on the castle's power like that."

Malfoy grumbled under his breath. "Fine, I'll make an anchor stone."

"What's an anchor stone?" asked Harry. "And how do you make one?"

Hermione, looking a bit excited, opened her mouth to respond, but Malfoy got there first. "You can watch me do it, Potter. Maybe you'll learn something useful."

"All right," said Harry.

The Slytherins, plus Harry, left en masse, and from behind them the angry voices of his friends and members of the DA rang out. Harry turned to send Ron and Hermione a look of apology.

Ron was standing up and shouting, "Everybody just shut the bloody hell up for a minute." Harry smiled. "Now, Hermione is going to answer your questions, but if you give her any crap you'll have me to answer to."

Harry started to feel a bit light on his feet, and Malfoy shoved a vial into his hand. "Take this. You should be taking a dose every four hours for the next day. It was stupid of us not to give you a second dose when you woke up."

Harry downed the vial, grimacing. "Thanks."

"Blaise, take him to the Den, and if he won't go to sleep put him out with a sleeping charm."

"What?" squawked Harry. "I thought we were going to fix the window."

"We are," said Blaise. "You're not."

"I bought you until dinner to nap," said Malfoy, "and then you're going to explain to your little friends why you didn't mention Blaise, Theo, and, most importantly, _myself_ in those letters." Malfoy poked him. "And you're going to make it nice, Potter. I'm not going to spend the summer watching my back for hexes."

Harry marveled for a moment at how he'd been played like a violin.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," he said. He thought about it for a moment. "There's _nothing_ I can say to make things better. Hell, even _Luna_ is angry."

"Well, Potter, you're going to try. You owe me for this afternoon."

"You were only doing to save your own neck!" protested Harry.

"It worked out well enough for you, didn't it?" snapped Malfoy. "Just roll out your Chosen Hero routine and they'll fall in line like they always do."

"I don't have a _routine_," snarled Harry.

Blaise put his arm around Harry's shoulders again. "Come on, Hero. Let's put you to bed, you're getting cranky."

Blaise was a little bit like a Weasley twin, Harry reflected. Even when he said just the thing that ought to annoy you most, all Harry did was roll his eyes and allow himself to be led away.

Blaise made him sleep in the dormitory the Slytherins were still using, in the bed Harry had been using before last night, because the others were less likely to find him there if they went looking for him.

"I'll wake you up in time for dinner. Do you want that sleeping charm?"

"No," yawned Harry, feeling very tired now that he was lying down. "Hey, Blaise?"

"Yes, Hero?"

Harry snorted. That nickname had to go. "Thanks for today. Saving my life and all."

"Don't think I won't make you pay for it," he smirked.

Harry yawned again. "What do you mean by that?"

Blaise shook his head. "Go to sleep, Hero."

Harry did.

-oOoOo-

Ron was very annoyed. He had more reason than most to loathe Draco Sodding Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies, but he was being quite mature about the situation. He wasn't being friendly, but he wasn't going out of his way to be a prat either. He didn't understand why the rest couldn't follow his lead.

Even Neville was being a little shit about the Snakes. Granted, Neville had changed a lot in the past year, but Ron didn't think there was any need for all the hostility Neville was carting around.

He wanted to point out (at least to Hermione) just how mature and levelheaded he was being, but a small voice said that giving voice to it might negate the point.

The former members of the DA were shouting over each other now, arguing between themselves even though they were all on the same side of said argument.

Hermione was massaging her temples. Ron wanted to take her away from the noise and kiss her until her headache disappeared.

Ron had to come up with a strategy, and quickly before this mob of combat trained teenagers decided to take matters into their own hands and drive the paltry quartet of Snakes from the school.

So as Seamus was waving his arms about and yelling over Hannah Abbot's quivering yelps, Ron stood on his chair, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Loudly.

"We can argue later!" he said. "Right now we have a huge bloody amount of things to do before the architects arrive on Monday."

Hermione looked up at him like he was a godsend. He suppressed the urge to grin.

"Neville, Justin, and…" Ron looked around the group for someone else who excelled in Herbology. "Padma," he guessed wildly. "You three are working on the Greenhouses this afternoon or out on the lawns. There's a bunch of plants growing wild out there, and we need that cleaned up before we landscape the lawn.

"Ginny, Luna, there's graffiti everywhere and it won't come off. I expect you know how to remove it." Ginny glared and he glared right back. He wasn't putting up with crap from his little sister today. He didn't care if she and Harry had quarreled, and now all she wanted to do was spread her bad mood around.

"Seamus, Dean, and Terry, the suits of armor were used to defend the school, and now they're all broken. You're going to gather up the pieces and find a room to put them in, so when we figure out how the hell to do it we'll have a 'suit-of-armor-building-workshop'.

"Lavender, Parvati, Hannah – remember how Trelawney used those crystal balls in the battle?" The girls nodded. "We'll you're going to fix them. I saw the broken bits in classroom ten. Get to it."

"Anthony, Ernie, and Michael… you're going to…. Um." Ron looked to Hermione for assistance.

"Remember how McGonagall rode into battle with those school desks?" she said. The boys nodded, and everyone smiled a bit. "The pieces are in the Transfiguration classroom, you can repair those."

"What are you two going to do?" asked Seamus.

"Hermione's still working on putting the library back in order," said Ron, and drew himself up proudly, "And I will be researching magical methods of glass-making."

"Glass making?" Seamus asked dubiously.

"Have you noticed how many broken windows there are?" said Ron. "And the house-elves cleared up all the glass, so it will have to be made new."

Argument seemingly forgotten for now, everyone went their separate ways, wands in hand, and for the most part looking like they were excited to get started.

Ron hopped down from his chair, and was only a little surprised when Hermione hugged him.

"You're so clever," she said.

"Always the tone of surprise," he teased.

"No really, splitting them all up like that so they can't mount a defense, and ensuring that they'll all be exhausted by dinner? You're brilliant, Ron." She kissed his cheek, and he blushed.

"Well, you know, divide and conquer." He put her snugly under his arm and gestured grandly. "Lead the way to the library."

Ron grinned, feeling terribly smug that she hadn't caught on to the second portion of his plan: research also meant that he could spend the afternoon in Hermione's company, and hopefully kiss her headache away.

-oOoOo-

"He's sexy, and a big damn hero, what more do I need to say?" Blaise said, smirking a little at his very angry blond friend.

"Sexy? Potter?"

"Please, Draco, don't act like you haven't noticed."

Draco looked disgusted, but maybe a little _too_ disgusted, so Blaise laid it on a little thicker, hoping for a reaction.

"His hair? That mop screams, 'I've just been shagged.'"

""I was raised by wolves,'" Draco corrected.

"And his eyes are so—"

"Myopic?"

"—so bloody green. They're like two expressive emeralds stuck in his face."

"If you go on, I will vomit," Draco warned.

Blaise laughed.

Draco sliced his thumb with a knife, and daubed the blood onto the newly minted anchor stone. An incantation later the tiny obelisk shaped stone glowed faintly purple, and the stone was ready to fuel Draco's makeshift water barrier.

Draco had railed at Blaise for five minutes for being overly touchy-feely with Potter's person. Blaise had demanded to know what was so wrong about it, and all Draco had been able to offer up was the pitiful line, "Because it's Potter!"

Blaise liked the fact that it was Potter.

Potter was rather adorable in his own way, and harmless if one wasn't a Dark Lord. Blaise's previous 'special friends' had been Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and on the whole were bastards (Draco being case in point) and Blaise felt it was time to give a nice safe Gryffindor a trial run. And one couldn't get any more Gryffindor than Harry Potter.

"He's straight," Draco said.

"Maybe," Blaise allowed, "but he didn't object to the cuddling. I'd say he has definite bi potential."

Draco rolled his eyes. "On your own head be it."

"Yes," Blaise leered, "but which one?"

"You're over-sexed. You know that, right?"

Blaise laughed, and conceded the point. "Come on, Draco, let's go skinny dipping."

"You will wear a bathing suit," he ordered. "I've seen enough of your naked arse."

"Yes, I suppose you have."

Blaise and Draco had had a casual relationship at the end of fifth year, just before Draco went off the deep Dark end, and it had never resumed, though they were still friendly. In sixth year Blaise had a few one offs with Terry Boot (not to mention various girls in their year), but nothing had come of it. There was just something a trifle bland about Ravenclaws, and anyway Blaise had never been able to distract Terry from his studies, and after that it had been one long dry spell. Which probably explained why he was now wasting his time with Harry Potter, who was more than likely straight as Draco said.

The boys left Pansy in the Den, to ensure no one found Potter sleeping off his near death experience, and traipsed down to the dungeons to set up the spells.

Draco had a bit of trouble with the spell layers, as he wasn't used to casting underwater like Blaise and Theo were, so he made Blaise do it and did the anchoring himself. They tested the strength of the barrier, not daring to throw themselves at it, lest they suffer a repeat of this morning's disaster, but all took a hold of a chair and tried to shove it through the window. The charms held like they were made of concrete, and the boys exchanged smug grins.

Once topside, they returned to the Den and discussed methods of pumping the water out. They discussed the merits of banishing the water, but Draco suspected that might bring the castle down upon their heads. Pansy wanted to gather everyone together to cast a massive drying charm, but Blaise felt they might end up boiling the water instead. In the end, Draco designed a water pump and Theo, who was good at conjuring, made a scale model of the pump, and Pansy produced a bowl of water, and they tested it out.

Draco looked terribly smug when the little pump began to dump water all over the coffee table.

"What on earth are you guys doing?" asked a very sleepy looking Harry Potter.

"Did you take the potion when you woke up?" snapped Draco, all evidence of his good mood gone with the arrival of his nemesis.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey, I did take my potions," Potter said, dropping into the seat by Blaise, who was thrilled at this unexpected (and no doubt unconscious) gesture.

"Are you feeling better?" Blaise asked.

"I feel fine. I think I'm just tired from sleeping, if that makes sense."

"It does."

"Did you fix the window?" Potter asked, yawning a bit.

"Yes," Blaise replied. "And look! Draco made a pump!"

Potter smiled. "It's cute." Draco glowered, and opened his mouth to say something scathing, but Potter got there first, backpedaling like mad. "Er, not cute. It's—er, manly and clearly very efficient. Though a bit small."

Blaise wondered why Potter was suddenly so eager to keep the peace going between himself and Draco when they would normally be at each other's throats just at the sight of each other.

"It's a scale model, you imbecile," said Draco, who was clearly not reading from the same book as Potter, much less from the same page.

"Yes," drawled Pansy. "It's very manly. Now then, gentlemen, when will we be testing the real thing?"

"It would be nice if we could get some rope," said Theo, who hadn't been paying attention to the conversation at all, and was still looking over Draco's sketches. "Transfiguring rope would be easier than conjuring meters of hose."

"Hagrid has rope in his hut," said Potter, leaning forwards to look at the plans. "I can go get it now, and we can test it out tonight."

"Don't even think about it, Boy Wonder," said Draco. "You're not doing anything."

"Why the hell not?" he said, fire starting to snap in his eyes. "I can help! I've been helping! What is your problem?"

"You may have forgotten already, because it's such a natural occurrence for you, but you nearly died this morning. Twice," Draco said. "If you get magical exhaustion on top of everything else you might just die from it, and who will people blame? Me. And I've got enough stacked against me at the moment without adding the death of their beloved Chosen One to it. So you will do nothing until I say you are better!"

Harry looked like he wanted very much to argue with Draco, but he clenched his jaw shut and dropped back in his seat with an angry huff.

Pansy laughed. "Oh, you boys are so entertaining."

"For that, Pansy darling," said Draco with a sarcastically large smile, "You can hike out to the half-breed's hut and get the rope."

She huffed, but rose from her seat and gave Draco the two-fingered salute on her way out the door.

Theo distracted Draco thoroughly by pointing out a flaw in his design plan, giving Draco someone else to snap at. But then he finally heard what Theo was saying, blushed hotly, and snatched his quill back to re-work the pump design.

Blaise didn't know when Draco had developed this talent to build things and make them work, because he still only thought about Draco being good at only one thing: Potions—and he hadn't been very good at that since Slughorn took over Snape's classroom. But Draco _was_ good at tinkering with things—he'd fixed Blaise's watch when it had broken over Christmas. He'd sat over the thing with small tools and a magnifying glass poking and prodding at it until he'd made it work again. And he always looked terrifically pleased with himself when the object in question began to work properly.

A part of Blaise suspected that Draco didn't have the slightest clue what he was doing, that he was just randomly trying one thing after another to see what stuck.

And he thought he was beginning to understand Draco's almost obsessive need to fix Hogwarts.

-oOoOo-

They didn't finish setting up the pump system before dinner. Potter pouted, sitting in a cushy chair, which Blaise had conjured, and Draco had shoved him into, as he watched the others work. The Boy Wonder tapped his wand against his knee, and threw dark looks at Draco whenever one of the others complained that they'd never finish conjuring and transfiguring, never! It was usually Pansy wailing—she hated transfiguration, and could only manage a few feet of hose at a time.

Draco didn't care, as he was busy conjuring up pieces of the pump and putting them together with Theo, all the while being very meticulous. He wanted this thing to work the first time.

But dinner came too soon, and they all traipsed back to the Great Hall. Draco forced Potter to take another dose of the potion.

"I hope you've used this time wisely," Draco said, knowing Potter had done no such thing, "to think about what you're going to tell your minions."

"They're not my minions," he said tightly.

It was just Potter's luck that his minions appeared exhausted and far too listless to even attempt such an emotion as anger towards the Slytherins. Draco wondered what on earth they'd done all afternoon to make them so tired, and was pleased to see that several items on the List had been marked completed. McGonagall must have organized and put the louts to work. Draco approved.

His world tilted askew when Finnigan began cursing the Weasel for putting them to work. Draco shut his eyes and firmly told himself that the Weasel was useless, unintelligent, and generally a waste of space. And then Weasley opened his mouth. "If you didn't finish what you were working on this afternoon, that's what you'll be doing in the morning, so don't wait around for instructions after breakfast, just get to it."

Draco pressed his palm to his forehead. He wanted to yell at Weasley, ask him what he thought he was doing, giving out orders like this when it was _Draco's_ project, and clearly they should be submitting to his will and no one else's, but what Weasley said was exactly word-for-word what Draco would have told them to do.

He moaned morosely, hating indecision, and dropped into a chair beside Pansy.

By the same horrible twist of fate that had occurred at lunch, the buffer zone between the Slytherins and the rest was comprised of Potter's friends, but at least Draco wasn't sitting next to Granger. Pansy had that honor, and the two girls were studiously ignoring each other.

The house-elves, no doubt feeling wretchedly guilty that their magic wasn't capable of the task of clearing up the school and the witches and wizards were _working_, did not skimp on dinner. Draco didn't think he'd ever tasted anything so delicious in all his time at Hogwarts, and it wasn't until dessert that the storm broke.

It was, unsurprisingly, the Weaslette who started it all. A woman scorned, and all that, and by a boy, no less. Draco was only surprised she'd waited this long, and hadn't just started with the hexes.

She glared hatefully at Blaise, and said loudly. "I still don't understand why they're here. It's not as though they care."

There was murmured agreement from the other end of the table, and darkening faces everywhere.

Draco leaned across the table and hissed, "Time to speak up, Golden Boy."

Potter looked for a moment like he wished the Dark Lord had succeeded in killing him, but he stood and said, "Erhm."

Draco barely resisted the urge to jump over the table and throttle him.

Potter cleared his throat, and said louder, "Can I have everyone's attention?"

They immediately quieted, and Draco wondered how Potter commanded attention like that when he was clearly so ill suited for attention of any kind. _Sheep_, he decided, _the whole of the wizarding world is comprised of sheep_.

"I know a lot of you are angry, and I know you lot had a pretty awful year here at Hogwarts. I know only some of what went on, but it's enough to know that this past year has been anything but fun for you. The Carrow's probably made Umbridge look nice in comparison…"

He nervously ran a hand through his terminally messy hair.

"But what you might not understand is that _they_ had a pretty awful year too." He gestured at Draco and his friends. "I imagine you think they enjoyed having this school overrun by Death Eaters, and having Voldemort in power, but you'd be wrong."

The angry mutterings of denial were starting.

"If anything they were probably in more danger from him than you were. They expected you to fight back, they expected you to kick and scream, and stir up trouble. You're _my_ friends, what else could they expect of you? But not them," he said, looking at Draco for a moment. "They expected them to fall into line, to follow orders, and to look like they were thrilled that the time of the Purebloods had finally come. And they were watching them to ensure there was no dissention in the ranks."

Potter let that statement sink in, let them think about what dissention meant. Draco thought sullenly that perhaps Potter was better at this speech thing than he thought.

"So they did. They made sure they appeared to be falling in line, following orders, and looking thrilled. Maybe it's not what we would have done, we didn't actually, but…" He frowned, looking uncertain for a moment, but seemed to come to a decision.

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. It was pretty adamant about it, actually, but I asked it not to. I've been wondering a lot lately how things would be different if I'd let the Hat do what it wanted… I don't know what I would have done in their position. I like to think I would have done the same thing I did, but I don't really know."

Pansy reached over and put her finger under Draco's chin. He realized his mouth had been hanging open at Potter's absolutely preposterous claim that he'd nearly been Sorted into Slytherin House. He snapped his mouth shut.

Impossible. There was no one more Gryffindor than Harry Potter. He wouldn't last a week in the Slytherin.

Luckily, Potter's friends seemed just as dumbfounded by this information, so no one noticed Draco's momentary lapse of grace.

Except, of course, for Potter, who was smirking at him.

"Anyway," he said, shrugging off the disbelieving stares of his friends, "None of us would even be here if it weren't for Malfoy. He's been at the school since the day after the battle creating the List," he gestured towards the rather impressive scroll listing damages to the school and it's environs, "and he's the only reason you're doing more interesting things right now and not sweeping up glass, because he made sure the house-elves did all they could do."

"But _why_ is he doing it?" demanded the Girl Weasley.

"I don't know," Potter shrugged. "Does it matter? It's getting done. That's what Slytherins are known for, isn't it? Their ambition? I don't care what Malfoy's motives are, but I care about this school and I want it to look perfect on September first.

"The war is over, and it's time to move on. I want Hogwarts to be able to move on too. I want this school to open in time and I want her to look better than she did before. And I think you guys want that too, or you wouldn't be here and you wouldn't have worked so hard today that you're falling asleep in your dessert."

Thomas jerked when Finnigan elbowed him. "I 'gree with Harry," he mumbled, and put his head down on folded arms. "Wake me when it's time for bed."

The rest of Potter's cronies laughed, though the Weaslette didn't so much as smile. She was too busy glaring at Blaise, who was looking speculatively at Potter. Draco knew that look, and the Girl Weasel was right if she was thinking it didn't bode well for her relationship with the Boy Who Absolutely Refused to Die.

Potter smiled at Thomas. "Right. So can we all try to be civil with each other this summer? I know it won't be easy, but I for one am sick and tired of fighting and would like a peaceful sort of summer."

There were grudging murmurs of agreement. Potter looked at Draco, and then at Blaise, who smiled serenely and said, "Anything you'd like, Hero."

Potter must be particularly stupid to miss the suggestive tone in Blaise's voice, because he only grinned and said, "Excellent." Draco rolled his eyes.

Granger stood as well, and said loudly, "All right, now that's done with I think we should get to sleep early. We have a lot to do before Monday, and it won't do for anyone to come down with magical exhaustion."

-oOoOo-

Ginny didn't know what the hell had happened. She and Harry were supposed to be together now. The only reason they'd been apart was because of Voldemort, and Voldemort was gone. And then Draco Malfoy had appeared, and she'd gotten upset (and understandably so, she'd thought) and rowed with Harry. And now Blaise Zabini was looking at Harry like he was a three-course dessert, and _saying_ things, and Harry was _smiling_ at him.

She rolled over in her bed, covered with a black quilt stitched with gold thread, and muffled a sob in her pillow.

Sometimes over the past year it had only been memories of Harry that had kept her going, kept her fighting. She could remember each kiss, each afternoon spent by the lake, or cuddled in the common room. She remembered the exact shade of dark green his eyes were just before he would kiss her, how his hands felt at her hips when he pulled her closer, how he'd laugh when she said something funny, how wild his hair looked after she was done putting her hands through it. He loved it when she touched his hair.

She remembered one afternoon at her Auntie Muriel's, when she'd been moping at a window, thinking of where her friends could be, and where Harry could be, and if they were all right. Her mother had hugged her, and said something that she'd considered obscure at the time, "You shouldn't live your life for someone else, Ginny, or pin all your hopes on them. You're too young for all that."

She'd thought then that her mother was maybe warning her against turning out like her Auntie Muriel, whose life seemed to stop when her husband had died in the war with Grindelwald, but she saw now that her Mum had been referring to Harry, and how Ginny shouldn't depend upon him for her own happiness.

Ginny thought almost longingly of the past week she'd spent with George at the shop. It had been awful, with reminders of a brother she'd never again see, but it had been better than this. Then at least there had been a reason to be miserable, this just felt stupid. She wondered if she ought to just go back to London and work in the shop for the summer.

But to do that would be almost cowardly, and once George discovered the reason she returned he would insist that she come back to Hogwarts. George wouldn't let her wallow in self-pity, the same way she hadn't allowed him in the wake of his twin's death.

Ginny pulled her knees to her chest, and the blanket over her head, and fell into a restless sleep. She dreamed of Blaise Zabini pinning Harry to the ground, and sinking his fanged teeth into Harry's pale neck while Ginny screamed, and Draco Malfoy took notes with a bright green quill, and Harry just smiled.

-oOoOo-

A/N: Please note that I'm an artist, not a med student, nor do I watch a lot of medical dramas on tv, and that I did all my research on drowning and near-drowning on Wikipedia, which should explain it all. So you know, I don't really know what I'm talking about. If the circumstances I've described surrounding Harry's near-drowning experience are too far fetched, please let me know. I don't want to embarrass myself too much, after all.

Reviews, I'll remind you once again, are love.


	4. Civility and the Art of Tongue Holding

A/N: Sorry about the wait. Real life has gotten in the way recently. Thanks to all those who reviewed and marked this fic for alerts. You're wonderful!

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Four:_

_Civility and the Art of Tongue Holding_

Pansy could not fall asleep, and it was all the fault of that Weasley girl, who was sniffling into her pillow—no doubt distraught at the discovery that her one true love was a poof. Pansy shook her head. She could almost sympathize with the girl as she'd once had a terrible crush on Draco, and all her dreams of becoming Mrs. Malfoy were shattered when she'd caught him kissing Blaise. Pansy made a gagging motion at the memory of those old feelings, and tried a silencing charm to drown out the girl Weasel, but that made her bed hallow eerily quiet. When she took the ward down that Lovegood girl was crooning in her sleep.

_That was it_, she thought, throwing the blankets aside and fetching up her pillow. She decided to pull a Draco and sleep in the common room. Halfway there she changed her mind. Why should she sleep on a sofa? Her back would ache in the morning, and she'd have under eye circles from tossing and turning.

She plowed into the boys' dorm, lighting up her wand and found the last empty bed. She raised her eyebrow at seeing Potter's wild hair darkening a pillow. She wondered just who had gotten him to sleep there, as Blaise had grumbled yesterday about Potter moving to share sleeping quarters with Ron Weasley and Longbottom.

She sighed in relief as she lay down, reveling in the blessed near silence, very glad that none of these boys snored.

Pansy woke in the morning with her face buried under her pillow, as was usual, and the knowledge that there was someone pressed against her back, which was not usual, and that that someone was kissing her neck.

She groaned in annoyance. What ignorant fool thought she would be up for morning nookie? First of all, _morning_, which really should say it all, and secondly, that there was no one at Hogwarts she wanted molesting her while she slept.

Unfortunately her groan was mistaken for something else, and whoever it was at her back had wandering hands.

"Get the fuck away from me," she grumbled.

"Oh, you don't mean that," the someone said, inching his hand up her back and under her shirt.

Unfortunately, Pansy knew that voice, and she was pretty sure she knew exactly why the boy attached to the voice was trying his game on her this morning. Pansy, like someone else in the room, had jet black hair, and it always looked a terrible fright when she woke up, much like that boy's hair looked all the time. Blaise was a fucking idiot.

"You might be interested to know," she said, pulling her face out from under her pillow, "that the body you're molesting right now has tits."

She glared at Blaise, whose eyes were wide with shock.

"Pans…" he said.

"Get the fuck out of my bed, Zabini."

"I am so sorry."

"Yeah, I'll bet you are. Go take a shower and wash the girl germs off."

Blaise departed like hell hounds were at his heels, and Pansy buried herself in the bedclothes and pillows once more, drifting easily back to sleep.

-oOoOo-

Draco didn't know why Blaise blushed every time he looked at Pansy, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. He also did not care, because he had a dormitory to un-flood.

He'd sent Potter off with vials of potions for the day, and ordered him to go off and play with his friends in the library, and do something useful with himself instead of sitting around watching Draco work. Draco had not yet cleared him to use magic, so the only thing Potter could do was research glass-making with Weasley. Potter had grumbled and growled, and Blaise had pouted, but Draco did not care. He could not stomach one more day of this infatuation Blaise had with Potter, and did not want to see his friend making cow-eyes at the Boy Who Lived when Draco had to concentrate on the flooding problem.

He sent Blaise and Theo down into the depths with one end of the hose, and he and Pansy led the other half through a window and outside so the water could dump back into the lake.

It was then a simple matter of making sure the pump worked.

Later, he would curse himself for calling the matter simple.

-oOoOo-

Ron smacked Harry upside his head.

Hermione was glad he did, because she wasn't close enough to do it herself.

"You almost drowned?" she repeated shrilly.

"I was fine. I'm fine," he protested.

"How is almost dying from not having enough oxygen in your blood make you _fine_?" she said. Ron smacked Harry again, seemingly unable to form coherent words.

"Ron, stop it," Harry said.

"No."

"You are so lucky Malfoy knew what to do," Hermione said.

"Well, he did, and I am all right, thanks to Malfoy and Blaise."

"Why the bloody hell didn't you say anything yesterday?" said Ron.

"There wasn't time. I didn't want the rest of the DA to know about it; they would have assumed the Slytherins did it on purpose, and it would have just made things worse," Harry said. "And then everybody went to bed, and Malfoy was shoving more potions down my throat, and making me sleep with them so he could wake me up in the middle of the night, and make me take more. He's worse than Madam Pomfrey, I swear."

Harry laughed as if remembering Malfoy's own brand of Mother Hen-ing, and Hermione shook her head, quite unable to believe that Harry had nearly died (twice) _again_, and she and Ron hadn't known about it until well after the fact.

"If this ever happens again, which it had better not," warned Ron, "You had better tell us straight away. I don't trust Malfoy to make sure you're all right."

"He did everything he could, Ron."

"But I'm sure Hermione could have done it better," he loyally insisted. Hermione smiled. "Just promise us you won't keep us in the dark with stuff like this?"

Harry smiled at them. "I promise. I'm sorry it took so long for me to tell you this time."

"You're forgiven," said Hermione. "I'm just so glad you're all right."

It hadn't been all that long ago that Harry had pretended to be dead, all for the sake of winning the war, but Gods if that hadn't been an awful ten minutes. Later, of course, he had apologized profusely, and had hugged Hermione when she started to cry. She hated to even think of those ten minutes.

"What have you guys found out about making glass?" asked Harry.

Hermione blushed, and Ron grinned. "Nothing, mate. We haven't started."

"Why not—Oh. I see."

"Right," Hermione said, briskly. "We'll get started on that then."

The house-elves were happily flitting back and forth along the shelves, sorting and alphabetizing the books according to Hermione's specifications, so she was free to work on research with the boys—or more accurately, she knew, do all the research while Harry and Ron grumbled about it.

But honestly, reading up about magical methods of making glass was better than researching dark spells and Horcruxes, so she felt they had no room to complain.

They still did, of course.

It didn't take Hermione long to find a book that was all about glass (the wizarding world was filled with seemingly useless, random information like this) and Harry stumbled onto something else, and around lunchtime they had devised a plan for mass producing panes of glass using a combination of Muggle assembly lines and a healthy dose of magic.

"We're going to need a lot of sand," said Ron, pointing out their main problem.

"I'll talk to McGonagall about it," Hermione said. "I'm sure she has a budget for the repairs. Perhaps she'll be able to order the supplies or knows where we can get them."

"It all sounds sort of dangerous," said Harry. "Maybe we should see if the glass can be bought."

Ron nodded fervently. "Easier too."

"Yes, all right," said Hermione. "I'll bring it up with McGonagall."

The library doors flew open, slamming against the wall, and Draco Malfoy stormed in. He ignored the group of Gryffindors entirely, but yelled, "Those Muggle Studies books had better be shelved properly!"

There were 'eeps' of terror from the house-elves, and they scattered every which way as Malfoy plowed through their midst.

He began grabbing books from the shelves, flipping through the indexes, and tossing the books aside when they didn't pass muster. Hermione winced as the books hit the floor.

"Malfoy, stop!" she cried.

"Yeah, what'd those books ever do to you?" said Ron.

Malfoy glowered at the Gryffindors, pulled another book from the shelf, and deliberately let it fall from his fingers.

"What are you looking for?" Hermione asked irritably.

"Water pumps."

"The pump isn't working?" asked Harry.

"No, Potter. It's working perfectly, and that's why I'm here in the library looking for information, preferably design plans, on water pumps," the blond said dryly.

Harry scowled and rolled his eyes.

"Did you take your you-know-what?" Malfoy asked him.

"I told them," said Harry, to which the blond shook his head as if that should have been a given. "And yes, I took the potion."

"Good."

Hermione offered to help Malfoy, but he waved her off, suddenly absorbed in a book on Muggle engineering.

Ron watched him, lip curled in disbelief, then abruptly shook his head as if to shake the confusing thoughts away. Hermione felt much the same, and Harry seemed oblivious to the strangeness of Malfoy's reading material, and was just watching the blond silently.

Hermione suddenly had a flashback to sixth year. She sighed inwardly. At least Harry wasn't extremely suspicious of Malfoy, stalking the blond and calling it a preventative measure against future evil.

She left her boys to their respective activities: Ron dozing on folded arms, and Harry watching Malfoy, and found a Business Floo Book in an effort to find a company that could provide the glass to Hogwarts.

At lunch Hermione spoke with the Headmistress. McGonagall wasn't sold on Hermione's idea of making the glass themselves, and sent the trio around armed with measuring tape and parchment to make a list of the size and number of how many panes of glass would need to be purchased.

It was dreadfully dull work and they hadn't even neared being done by the time dinner rolled around.

-oOoOo-

Dean wanted to wring Seamus's neck. They were best mates, and he never would, of course, but Seamus would not shut up about the Slytherins. And Terry Boot, that idiotic Ravenclaw, kept agreeing with him, and it just egged Seamus on.

Dean tossed a few more scraps of metal into the crate they were using to cart all the broken pieces of armor up to the castle. Boot had made it light and had charmed it to levitate and follow them around—which was the only good thing Boot had done, and that was yesterday afternoon.

It was hot this morning. The sky was cloudless, and even though it was only mid-morning the sun was beating down on their heads. Dean thought about the dungeons, which were cool and flooded with lake water. It might be nice to go for a swim.

"I just cannot believe Harry can forgive them like that," said Seamus. "It's not as though they fought with us. In the end they all ran away like the cowards they are."

Boot nodded. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy came back," said Dean.

"Oh, yes," Seamus said darkly. "I saw him. Wandering about without a wand, telling every Death Eater he came across that he was on their side."

Boot started to nod again, and Dean had had it. "Well what did you expect him to do without a wand?" he snapped. "He's Slytherin. He was just trying to keep himself from getting killed. What would you do in the middle of a battle without a wand?"

"Taken one off one of those no good Death Eaters. There were plenty down."

"Yeah, all right, Seamus."

Taken one. Sure. Like it worked that way.

Dean had a very different year than his best friend. Unable to return to Hogwarts, and unable to go home for fear of putting his family in danger, he'd had to go on the run. It had been rough going for a while. He'd tried to make it work in the Muggle world, but he'd spent his teenage years as a wizard, and the Muggle world looked very different at seventeen than it did at eleven. He just didn't know how to assimilate, and had daily cursed himself for being no better than a Pureblood who didn't know the first thing about taking the Tube or checking into hostels. And London was a rough place to be when you were homeless.

Added to this, was that his family didn't understand why he couldn't go back to school, and why he couldn't stay at home. They'd reported him as a runaway, and after a few weeks of attempting to use his step-dad's credit cards, they'd nearly caught him twice, and he had to go at it alone. Hiding from the Ministry and the Muggles. It was awful, and led to a lot of sleeping in alleyways and on park benches.

Luckily he'd eventually taken up with Ted Tonks, who had a daughter who was an Auror and wife who was a Black. Ted had made sure they were safe, and always had something to eat, and he had a magical tent that was bigger on the inside. Ted called it the TARDIS, and when things looked particularly dire Dean would refer to Ted as 'the Doctor', and then things didn't look quite so bad.

It wasn't long after that they took up with Dirk Cresswell and two goblins. Dean didn't like Dirk, because he didn't believe in Harry, and he liked the goblins even less.

Things went well for a few months. And then Ted and Dirk had gone to a Muggle grocery for food, and the Snatchers had followed them back to their camp.

Dean didn't like to think about that day.

"Look," Dean said. "I know things sucked here. They sucked out there too. But Harry's right. This isn't the time to hold on to old hate. We have to put the world back together, and we can't do that without the Slytherins. Like it or not they are as much a part of our world as Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are. We need them."

Seamus didn't like it, and said so.

Dean just shook his head, and walked a few hundred feet away to collect more metal scraps. Seamus had spent his year fighting, which was very different than just trying to survive. Dean understood all too well what the Slytherins had gone though, the narrow line they'd walked, and he understood why Seamus didn't understand. Dean too was a Gryffindor, and couldn't imagine being at Hogwarts with those Death Eaters teaching classes and torturing students, and not wanting to stand up and make it stop.

But sometimes your hands were tied, and you were damned if you do, and damned if you didn't.

Dean understood. He didn't like it, but he understood.

-oOoOo-

Justin Finch-Fletchley, heir to the Finch and Fletchley fortunes, had spent the past year on the continent. He was pretty sure the Ministry wouldn't be able to find one Muggle boy who was traipsing across Europe with matching Louis Vuitton luggage, and he'd been right. Justin had spent a fair amount of time in Ibiza, soaking up the sun and getting laid.

He'd done a wonderful job of acting like he was nothing more than a rich Muggle, living off Daddy's money, irresponsible and carefree.

He wasn't, exactly. He drowned his cares in alcohol and sex, and tried to ignore that persistent feeling that he no longer belonged in the Muggle world. Sometimes, though, it was hard to even remember what magic felt like. He hadn't used any, not even after his seventeenth birthday when the Trace was gone. His name was on a list of Muggleborns wanted for interrogations, and he was scared that even the use of a tiny thing like 'Lumos' would result in his capture.

The only wizarding items he'd brought with him were his wand and his DA coin, which kept him appraised of the situation at Hogwarts. It was lucky that at the time Neville had sent that last message he was just on the other side of the Channel in France, and he was able to Apparate to London and then to Hogsmeade with ease.

He'd been soft. Winded from the fight, and spells came to him sluggishly, bogged down by a year of museum tours, white sand, and tanned slick bodies.

He'd come out of it alive though, and wouldn't have traded his year of city-hopping to live in Neville Longbottom's shoes for all the gold in Gringotts. Not even if it meant he could understand Neville's anger, which was bewildering.

Justin had never liked the Slytherins. He was a Hufflepuff. The Snakes thought the Badgers were beneath their notice or just there for ridicule. Justin didn't quite understand why the others were so upset with the Slytherins though. From what he'd heard the Slytherins had only acted as he'd suspected they would act: Snakes first, everyone else a distant second. Perhaps it was disappointing that the Snakes hadn't risen to the occasion, but honestly, Gryffindors always expect that those not on the side of evil should always act the hero. It just doesn't work that way.

Bad times bring out the best in some, and the worst in others. There wasn't any cause to be upset about it. But that was the Hufflepuff way. Keep your nose to the grindstone, and if you're looking at what others are doing you just aren't working hard enough.

Justin pushed his sweaty blond curls out of his eyes, and drove the shovel into the ground next to the Snargaluff that had taken root in the lawn. Somewhere, not far away, Padma and Neville were working too, but Justin would not look to check their progress. He would keep his nose to the grindstone, and he would not look up.

-oOoOo-

Draco needed help. He didn't want to admit it, but he did. There it was. And worse still the help he needed could only be given by one person.

The water pump wasn't working, and he had no idea what was wrong with it, other than it wasn't pumping water. It was trying, the pistons were moving, and the magic making the handle push down worked like a charm (Blaise's contribution to the cause, the lazy bastard), but no water came out. He'd found a Muggle book on engineering in the library, and while it was fascinating—he'd shamefully admitted to himself—it had not helped him to discover where he'd gone wrong in his design for the pump.

He needed help. He needed someone who innately understood the way Muggle things worked. He needed—

"Granger."

She looked up from her book. The members of Potter's trio and his little defense club had retired to the common room of the Den for the evening, while Draco and his friends had been run off to the dorm they were staying in. While the others were engaged in games of Exploding Snap, Chess, and a heated game of Truth or Dare (fueled by Butterbeer), Granger was curled up in front of the fire with a novel.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?"

Draco resolutely, painfully, shoved his pride to the side. He could do this. For Slytherin, he could do this.

"The pump. I can't get it to work. I was hoping you could put your Muggle-ness to good use and tell me where I went wrong."

She sniffed. "Well, the first thing you did wrong was insult me when you needed a favor. Bad form." Granger went back to her book.

He scowled, screwed his eyes shut and said, "Please?"

That got her attention. She was so startled, in fact, that Draco was offended. As though she'd thought he didn't even know the word was commonly used in the English language. He irritably pushed the roll of parchment with the pump schematics in her face, and dropped into a chair near her.

"Well, go on," he said.

She rolled her eyes, but began to examine the design. Draco studied his nails, and then the fire, and wondered what was taking her so long. Shouldn't her Muggle-ness take over and reveal hidden Muggle secrets to her?

"Well, Granger?"

"I—" She sighed, with what Draco would learn was a massive blow to her pride. "I can't help you."

"Why in Merlin's name not? I said 'please' for fuck's sake."

"I didn't say that I won't, I said that I can't!"

"Oh," he said, and smiled a blinding, enormous smile. "Oh, I see."

"Shut up," she snapped, and threw the scroll at him.

Draco smirked delightedly. While Granger may have failed him, she had given him a golden opportunity. He stood on his chair, blew the parchment up with an Engorgement Charm so it could clearly be seen across the whole of the common room, and said in the manner of a circus ringleader, "Gryffindors, Muggle lovers, disgraced Ravenclaws! I ask for your attention!"

When the group was looking his way, some looking mighty violent, he went on. "Now is the time for you to get one up on Miss Hermione Granger, whose encyclopedic knowledge has just failed her for the very first time!"

At this, the disgraced Ravenclaws sat up and took notice.

"Here's your chance, boys and girls, for if you can answer my question correctly, you and you alone will be able to lord your superior knowledge over Her Brainy Bushiness for the rest of the summer. Are you interested?" he called.

There were some titters, and more than one person called out, "Yes!"

Draco pointed to the poster-sized parchment he'd floated in the air with his wand. "Who here can tell me why this water pump won't work?"

To his surprise, they actually seemed to be considering his question. Padma Patil was even coming in for a closer look. There was no Ravenclaw in their year who didn't hate Hermione Granger just a little bit—for she made the members of the house of books and studying look like lazy, illiterate fuckwits.

Granger on the other hand was glaring with a look so filled with hate that it took Draco back to simpler times. He wanted to call her 'Mudblood' one more time, just to make the moment complete. But he didn't, because he was horribly outnumbered, and because Granger had a wicked temper, which sometimes led to physical violence.

Potter's inner circle, unlike the others, were not amused by Draco's attempt at getting answers by targeting Granger. Both Weasels were scowling, Longbottom's face was hard, and Lovegood was off in la-la land as usual. Potter was frowning at the diagram, though, eyes flickering over it in contemplation.

As time stretched on, Draco's heart fell, and the hope that there was some innate Muggle magic (for lack of a better word) residing in his classmates began to wane. There was no hope. Slytherin House would be closed, forever underwater, and all those future ambitious souls would be forced into Ravenclaw or, Salazar forbid, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.

"Draco," said Potter, stunning the blond boy momentarily. "It's not water tight. You need a rubber ring around the piston, see?"

Draco just stared at his nemesis. _What_ had Potter called him?

"There's no suction," Potter explained, as though that was the problem. "No force to pull the water upwards?"

Draco blinked, and his priorities righted themselves. Ah, Potter was right. How had he missed that? Draco hopped off his lofty perch, and left the Den in a hurry. He was going to get the damn pump working if it was the last thing he ever did.

It was always like this. Some tiny, seemingly inconsequential thing that he forgot about, which in turn cocked up his entire plan. It had been like this with the cabinet too. He'd been missing a fucking screw, and that had caused him months of anguish. And this time, a simple ring of rubber.

Always something simple, something obvious, that he missed and caused everything to go pear-shaped.

Story of his fucking life.

-oOoOo-

"How did you know that?" Hermione demanded, as Malfoy ran out of the Den.

Harry shrugged. "I had to mow my aunt and uncle's lawn. The lawnmower broke down all the time, and I had to fix it." He'd made the mistake of telling Uncle Vernon about the broken mower once, and his uncle had blamed Harry and his 'freakishness'.

"Oh," she said. Talk of the Dursleys killed any impending argument flat. It was almost handy.

Ginny, who'd been ignoring him since their fight said quietly, "You called him Draco." And she went back to her game of Exploding Snap with Luna as if she hadn't said anything at all.

Had he? How odd, he didn't even realize.

"Malfoy's a git," growled Ron, nearly inaudible over the noise of the Truth or Dare game. "Cornering Hermione like that. Git."

Harry sighed, and looked at the chessboard. Ron was beating him soundly.

"I'm going to go see how Malfoy's doing," Harry said.

"Of course you are," muttered Ginny.

Harry sighed and decided to ignore her. He didn't know how to make up for their fight, other than apologizing and giving into Ginny's every whim. But he wouldn't apologize for making nice with the Slytherins, only for yelling at her, and that wouldn't be enough.

Malfoy was on his knees by the water pump, meticulously taking it apart.

"Was I right?" Harry asked.

The blond grumbled something, but didn't outright tell Harry to fuck off, so Harry took that to mean he could stay.

Malfoy conjured a length of string, measuring around the piston, and tied off a loop. With his wand he transfigured the string into a rubber ring. He replaced the piston and smiled in triumph as he put all his weight into forcing it down into the pipe.

Harry handed him bits of the dismantled pump, until it was reassembled. Malfoy pushed down on the lever and cheered when a small amount of water poured from the spout.

"I am fucking Merlin!" Malfoy proclaimed.

Harry laughed.

"Make yourself useful Potter, and reattach that hose."

Harry did as he was bid, and Malfoy reactivated the charm that kept the lever pumping up and down.

"How long will it take to drain the dungeons?" asked Harry.

"A long time. A very long time at this rate. I'll copy this one tomorrow, and then we'll have a few pumps running. It'll go faster."

Malfoy looked almost wild in his success, far from the Ice Prince of old. Harry liked it. This was a Malfoy he could have been friends with at eleven. But just as soon as he appeared, he was gone, replaced with the Malfoy who hated every breath Harry took.

In the hall there was silence, but for the squeak of hinges and the gush of water. Harry looked at Malfoy, who looked at a spot of grease on his hand.

"This is stupid," said Harry. "Can't we call a truce, or something?"

"Whatever happened to your dream of civility?"

"I think they go hand in hand."

"A truce is a cessation of hostilities between two opposing forces, while civility is a formal politeness. I can agree to the truce, but not to the civility."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because I don't know how to be formally polite with you. Besides, you'd probably only think I was being sarcastic."

"Probably," Harry allowed.

"What are the terms of the truce?" Malfoy asked, giving a mocking sort of bow.

"Um, no offensive magic towards each other."

"Agreed. No offensive magic towards members of… our… forces?"

"I'm not going to hex your friends, Malfoy. I sort of like them."

"Blaise will be so glad to hear that," drawled Malfoy. "Anything else?"

Harry wasn't quite sure what he meant about Blaise, but he let it go. "Yes, you can clear me for using magic tomorrow."

Malfoy was suddenly all business. "Did you take your last potion?"

"Yes. Do you know any diagnostic healing spells?"

"I've heard Pomfrey say a few, but I don't know how to do them," he admitted. "I suppose you'll be all right to use magic tomorrow. If you get enough sleep."

Harry smiled. "Great, thanks Malfoy."

There was an awkward sort of moment where Harry decided to go back to the Den and asked if Malfoy was coming along as well. The other boy said he was going to just make sure that the water pump was operating correctly, and for Harry not to worry his tiny, little brain over it.

This scathing comment prompted an argument over whether insults were allowed under the truce, to which Malfoy said he would never have agreed if that were the case, so 'Potty' had just better learn to deal with verbal abuse.

Harry supposed a kinder, gentler Malfoy was too much to hope for.

-oOoOo-

A/N: Yay! They're starting to get along! I did some research, but honestly, I have no idea how water pumps work. I never took physics in high school, and science and engineering were never my forte anyway. So yeah, if I totally screwed that up let me know.

Reviews are love, and you know they make me want to work on this story… Just sayin.


	5. Justice & Desirable No 1

A/N: A LOT happens in this chapter… and some of it you might not be very happy about. I, uh, hope my Blaise-love doesn't drive the hardcore H/D-ers away. I swear you'll like where this fic goes, and Blaise is necessary for getting us there. Plus, you know, he's hot… in all his fictional playa glory.

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Five:_

_Justice & Desirable No. 1_

The third morning began better than the last, mostly because Blaise hadn't made the grave error of confusing Pansy's bed head with Potter's untamable mop. He stayed away from tempting jet-black locks entirely, at least until he could see the face under said hair.

He sat next to Potter at breakfast. Granger, Longbottom, and Draco made up the rest of the early risers.

"Good morning, all," he said cheerily, fetching a large cup of very black coffee. "How did everyone sleep?"

Draco did not deign to answer, but then he never did before he had his daily intake of caffeine. Longbottom didn't have anything to say either, but this was not surprising, as Longbottom hated Blaise for being a slimy Slytherin who was rather proficient at the Imperius Curse.

Potter, however, was a joy as always. "Fine. How did you sleep?"

"Oh, just fine. I had _very nice_ dreams." He winked at Harry, hoping the poor oblivious (and oh-so delicious) boy would catch on. He didn't.

"That's nice."

"Yes, Hero, it is nice. And may I say, you have very talented hands in my dreams."

Granger choked on her tea. Potter turned to his friend. "Are you all right, Hermione?"

"Fine," she gasped. She gave Blaise a _look_. It said, 'What the hell are you up to? If it hurts Harry I will disembowel you with a paper cut hex. Imagine how long that would take, Zabini, _imagine_.' Blaise held back a shiver of fear, and grinned disarmingly. If anything, this only made the _look_ speak more violently.

Blaise was saved, if one could call it that, by the arrival of the Minister of Magic and what looked like every Auror from the Auror Department.

Draco looked hunted, and closed his eyes. Probably hoping this was all a terrible dream.

"You're a difficult wizard to find, Mr. Potter," said the Minister, smiling wryly at Harry.

Harry smiled too, as if the sudden infestation of Ministry officials was a happy occasion, and stood to shake the Minister's hand.

"Minister Shacklebolt," he said, his smile getting wider. Granger too looked pleased to see the very large, very intimidating man. "It's good to see you."

"It's Interim Minister, Mr. Potter. I've not been elected."

"Not yet," said Harry, making it clear who he'd be voting for. Blaise shook his head. The boy needed a Slytherin helping hand if this was how he played political matters.

Shacklebolt smiled briefly, and said, "I'm afraid though, that we're here on official business."

"Oh?" Harry said, his eyes quickly flicking to Draco, who was pretending he was invisible. It was working, if only a little, because the Minister and the Aurors were utterly taken with Harry.

"The Ministry has been in shambles, and we've only gotten to this now. I'm sorry to put you though it again, Harry, but we need to get an official statement from you about the final battle, as well as everyone else who was at Hogwarts that night."

"Oh, I see. Well, most of the members of the DA are here—which, I guess you knew, or you wouldn't have brought the whole Auror department with you." Harry chuckled.

"Yes, they knew," said Shacklebolt. "It's a two bird, one stone sort of day, you see Potter. They're here to do a little recruiting as well. Between yourself and Longbottom you turned out one hell of an army, and we'd be glad to have any of you working with the Aurors."

Longbottom ducked his head, hiding a blush, and Harry flashed a bright smile. "That's fantastic, sir. I'm sure you'll have more than one person who's interested."

"I'm very glad to hear that. Auror Williamson here," Shacklebolt gestured to a very attractive, if Blaise said so himself, man with very long sandy hair tied back in a ponytail. The man grinned easily at Harry. "He'll be taking your statement, Potter."

"Right now?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"If you're done with breakfast," Williamson said. "I need to speak with you, as well as Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"Well, Ron's still asleep," said Harry. "Hey, Blaise, Drake, could you two get Ron and let everyone else know what's going on?"

Oh, Potter was clever. Blaise took back everything he'd ever said about the boy being oblivious.

"Sure," Blaise said, smiling easily. Draco was only slightly shaky on his feet, and they both escaped the Great Hall without anyone suddenly wanting to arrest Draco.

They got a hall away from the Entrance Hall, until Draco said, "I—I need to sit down."

Having no where to sit, Blaise pushed him against a wall and Draco slid down it. His friend was white.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you think its possible none of them knew who I was?" asked Draco.

"They can't have." Blaise smiled. "Potter's kind of sneaky, isn't he?"

Draco laughed, relief and disbelief clear. "I know. Where has he been hiding that?"

"What do we do now? We need to hide you… at least until Potter works his Chosen One magic."

"What are you talking about?"

"He got you out of there, Draco. He doesn't want you going to Azkaban, you twit. So until he makes things nice with the Minister (and how the hell does Potter know the Minister, anyway?) we need to make sure none of the Aurors wise up and decide to cart you off to Azkaban."

"He's not going to do anything for me, Blaise. Even if we did call a truce last night, that doesn't make us friends, and I've given him no reason to stick his neck out for me."

Blaise shook his head. "It's Potter. The mere fact that he wanted to call a truce… well, we've both seen how he protects his friends, and I think he counts you among that circle, for whatever daft reason he's got in his head. Be grateful for it, Draco."

Draco wasn't buying, but it hardly mattered.

Blaise woke Weasley and informed everyone of the Aurors presence, wanting to take statements and recruiting. It didn't take him long to herd them all out, and then he reset the password to the Den.

If anyone went looking for Draco, that would slow them down, and when they did get in… well, Draco wouldn't hide anywhere they'd expect him to, would he?

-oOoOo-

While the members of the DA, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were happy to assist the Aurors in their investigation, they were not happy to have to relive the battle or the past year.

Auror Williamson and the rest collected memories of the battle, and other key events, in order to get a clear picture. They were attempting to get a full and unbiased account (and what is more unbiased than an unaltered memory?) of the battle to use in the prosecution of Death Eaters and other loyal followers of Voldemort.

Even Blaise, Pansy, and Theo were questioned, and their memories of what happened after they were led out of the school with the other Slytherins were requested and given.

By the afternoon, everyone had been questioned except for Harry, who was still away somewhere with Auror Williamson and Minister Shacklebolt.

The group of emotionally drained students was congregated in the Great Hall, listlessly eating a late lunch. The house-elves had made an arrangement of comfort foods, with ice cream for dessert, but no one was talking much as they were all lost in remembered terror and still fresh grief.

It was understood that there would be no work done today.

At three, Harry hurried into the Great Hall and over to Blaise.

"Blaise, where's Draco?"

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"They want to talk to him. I swear, _I swear_ I won't let them take him, but they need to talk to him."

Blaise knew Harry believed what he said, but he didn't trust the Aurors. He looked to Theo and Pansy, who didn't know any more than he did what to do.

"He's in the seventh year dorm in Slytherin," Blaise said. "You'd best keep your word, Hero."

Harry nodded and hurried away, unaware of the concerned looks he was garnering.

-oOoOo-

Harry couldn't quite believe Draco had been allowed to go alone into the flooded dormitory. The Snakes were very protective of each other, and after Harry had nearly drowned, he was surprised they would let any one of them go down alone.

But there Draco was, Bubble Head Charm in place, floating over a bed and entertaining himself by making bubbles and popping them with well aimed sparks.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"The Minister and Auror Williamson want to talk to you."

Draco just looked at him for a moment, debating. "Are they going to arrest me?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I've made sure of it."

He'd demanded it, actually. Both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy would go free, or he would cause such a stink in the press… He'd made it clear that if it weren't for Narcissa and Draco he would have been unable to defeat Voldemort, and that's all there was to it. Sure, Draco's involvement was due entirely to chance, but still. Harry felt it counted, because so many of his own so-called victories relied entirely on chance and luck.

Teddy Lupin weighed heavily on his mind during the negotiations. Narcissa and Draco were Teddy's family, and that little boy had already had too much family taken from him. Harry wouldn't let Azkaban take any more—even if they were Malfoy's.

Draco didn't look like he believed him.

"Draco, I swear. You're not going anywhere."

Draco bit his lip, looking hunted. "All right."

-oOoOo-

Pansy let out a sigh of relief when Draco entered the Great Hall two hours later, accompanied by Potter, the Minister, and Auror Williamson.

Draco allowed her to hug him and pat his hair. He looked shocked and relieved in equal measure, as though an enormous weight had been taken away and he was left reeling by the lightened load.

The Minister cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the gathered students. "I want to thank you all for your assistance today. I know several of you were able to give us information we did not have before, and thanks to you the guilty parties will not be able to avoid just punishment."

There were weary smiles from some students.

"I'd like to thank the three of you personally," he said, addressing the Slytherins, "for assisting the younger students that night, and Apparating them to safety."

Mrs. Zabini hadn't been happy at the sudden influx of terrified children in the middle of the night, and even less so that her son had offered up their mansion as a temporary safe house, but at the time there wasn't anything she could do about it, other than scold Blaise, and she'd been gracious enough in the morning when she'd washed the green face mask away.

Pansy snorted at the dropped jaws of her classmates, and Blaise turned up his nose and said, "What? It's not like we were going to join old Snake Face, and we certainly weren't going to leave a bunch of first and second years to be blindly led to him."

Still gaping, and Theo said, "And Draco led Crabbe and Goyle away so we could do it without the Death Eaters knowing where the children were going."

"Huh," said Weasley. "That was cool of you, Malfoy."

"I am the epitome of cool, Weasley."

"Yes it was very cool," said Shacklebolt grinning slyly. "A plot worthy of my former House."

And just like that, Pansy liked the new Minister. Having a Slytherin was certainly better than having a Hufflepuff (Fudge) or a Gryffindor (Scrimgauer) in the office.

"Not much of a plot," Draco admitted. "Crabbe and Goyle are idiots. _Were_ idiots."

Whatever Draco said about them, she knew he missed Vince and Greg as they once were, before the Dark Lord had corrupted them with Dark Magic, and so she hugged him again. He leaned his head on her shoulder wearily.

"I'll not take up any more of your time today," said Shacklebolt. "I and the Auror department thank you again, and we hope to see some of you in the Auror training program."

Potter shook the Minister's hand. "Thank you, Minister."

"Think nothing of it, Harry. I hope you all have an enjoyable summer."

-oOoOo-

Harry felt wiped out. Memories assailed him, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and try to forget this day and all the thoughts and feelings it had dredged up.

Hermione noticed. "Harry, are you feeling all right?"

"Not really. Though I don't think anyone is."

"No, I suppose not." The rest of their friends looked just as down and tired as Harry felt. "Maybe you should go see Teddy," she suggested. "That always makes you feel better."

Just thinking about the little boy with turquoise hair nearly brought a smile to his face. "Actually, yeah. I think I'll do that."

"Say hello to Mrs. Tonks for me, Harry," said Ron.

"Tonks?" said Draco. "Are you going to see my Aunt Andie?"

"Yeah, I want to see my godson."

"I—do you—could I come with you?" he asked almost hesitantly. "I'd like to see my mother."

"Sure," Harry smiled.

The journey to Andromeda Tonks's house was quiet. Harry rang the bell, and Andromeda answered.

"Harry, Draco," she said, looking between them like someone waiting for the punchline. "What a strange yet pleasant surprise."

"I'm sorry to just show up like this—" said Harry.

"Mum!" Draco pushed his way inside and all but threw himself at his mother.

"Darling, what is wrong?" Narcissa said, wrapping the blond up in her arms, looking terribly worried.

Andromeda smiled wryly. "Well, come on in, Harry. Clearly there's no need to stand on ceremony."

"It's been a rough day," Harry explained.

"Well, we'd best leave them to it," she said. Narcissa was still trying to get something coherent out of her son, who'd buried his face in her neck. Andromeda led Harry to the living room, where Teddy was in a play pen. The little boy squealed when he saw Harry, and waved his arms around.

Harry, who was better at this now after having a bit of practice, picked Teddy up. He already felt better. Happier.

"He recognizes you," Andromeda said.

Teddy made this all the more evident by scrunching up his face and changing his hair to match Harry's. Harry laughed, and the baby did too. "I love it when he does that."

"Since when are you and my nephew friendly?" asked Andromeda curiously. "I didn't think the two of you got on at all."

Harry shrugged. "We've called a truce. The Aurors were at Hogwarts today. They wanted a full picture of the battle."

"Ah," she said. "I see."

Harry squeezed Teddy a bit. Andromeda, he thought, liked to pretend the battle had never happened. The loss of her husband and daughter in the same year had hit her hard. She poured all her love into Teddy, just like Harry.

"Draco was cleared today. I think he's just relieved."

She looked surprised for a moment. "That's wonderful," she said quietly.

"They'll want to talk to Mrs. Malfoy, but I think she'll be fine too," he said.

"Harry, that's… that's wonderful. I don't think I could bear the loss of my sister as well." Andromeda looked as if she'd been granted a wish she hadn't dared hope for. "Harry, will you excuse me, I need to…"

"Of course."

Harry politely ignored the cries of relief and jubilation going on in the other room, and gave Teddy a rattle to wave around. Teddy bonked him repeatedly on the nose. Harry didn't mind. "You're so much like your mum already, aren't you?"

Teddy squealed in agreement. "Let's just hope you get a bit of grace from your dad, eh?"

Eventually the others joined him in the living room, neither Narcissa nor Andromeda bothering to hide the fact that they'd been crying.

"Mr. Potter, my family owes you another debt," said Narcissa, wiping her eyes.

"I didn't do anything."

The three of them together scoffed, though Draco alone looked annoyed. "You're a dear boy," she said.

Andromeda insisted that the boys stay for dinner. "We should have something special," she said. "And champagne."

So they did. It was an unexpectedly pleasant dinner for Harry. The Black sisters had welcomed him into the fold of their family so entirely that it almost felt like he was sitting down to dinner with the Weasley's, though this group was much more dignified and proper.

-oOoOo-

Draco and Potter left his Aunt Andie's house and prepared to Apparate back to Hogwarts. Draco couldn't believe what the day had wrought. Cleared in the eyes of the Ministry, both himself and his mother. It was more than he could have hoped for.

And he hadn't even _lied_. It was extraordinary. He'd been all but certain at the beginning of the day that he'd be led away in shackles by the Aurors, but here he was, a bit buzzed from the champagne and he'd just had a delicious dinner with his family (excepting his father) and Harry Potter, of all people. And he was free.

"Lets go to Hogsmeade first," he said.

Potter shrugged. "All right."

They Apparated to the Hogs Head, where Draco ordered three crates of Butterbeer and several bottles of firewhiskey from the surly barkeep.

"What's all this for?" Potter asked.

"I feel like a bit of a party."

Potter grinned, and cast levitation charms on the crates. "I think we could all use a party."

The liquor was greeted with cheers from everyone when Draco and Potter arrived at the Den.

"Yes, yes," said Draco. "I got it for everyone. I'm feeling wildly generous today. And yes, before you ask, I _am_ trying to buy your admiration with alcohol."

This garnered laughs from everyone, and after several drinks Dean Thomas suggested that they all go swimming in the flooded dungeons.

-oOoOo-

Pansy was having quite a lot of fun. Lavender Brown knew nearly as much about fashion and makeup as she did, and the two girls were in a duel to the death over who knew more beauty tricks. Parvati Patil kept firing potential hair and skin woes at the two girls, and they were tied neck and neck.

Parvati eventually drew a blank. "I can't think of anything else to ask."

"Ah well," said Pansy. "Good show, Brown."

"And you, Parkinson." The girls smiled.

"I think we need a tie-breaker," said Pansy.

"What do you suggest?"

"Makeovers."

"Oooh," said Parvati. "But who?"

"Granger, obviously. Extra points if you can tame her hair."

"Oh, and Luna," said Lavender.

Parvati cackled evilly. Pansy was rather impressed a Gryffindor could pull off such a laugh.

It was the work of a moment to lure Lovegood into their clutches, but Granger was a bit harder to snag.

"Oh, come on, Granger," said Pansy. "Come play with the girls."

Pansy was making an effort here. She and Granger hated each other on sheer principle, there was no real reason for it; they just rubbed each other the wrong way.

"What are you going to do?" she asked warily.

"A little makeup, nothing too major," Pansy assured. "And something with your hair."

Granger sniffed. "Good luck with the hair."

"Do you know Queenie Greengrass?" asked Pansy. The other girl nodded. "Her hair is just like yours."

"But it always looks so pretty!" Hermione said, and then looked chagrined that she'd admitted to noticing such a thing.

"Yes, it does. And I help her fix it every morning."

Granger wavered. "Really?"

Pansy smirked wickedly. "Step into my parlor."

"Said the spider to the fly," Granger returned, but went along with the other girls anyway.

-oOoOo-

Blaise shook his head as he watched Pansy gleefully grab Hermione Granger's hand and drag her off to the girl's dormitory. "It must be very chilly in Hell tonight," he mused.

Ron Weasley had just demolished Terry Boot in chess and was calling for another challenger.

Theo slid into the empty seat and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, fresh meat," said Weasley.

"Theo here has never been beaten," said Blaise. "He's the undisputed champion of Slytherin."

Seamus Finnigan plopped himself down beside Blaise on the sofa. "Ah, but Ronald is the undisputed champion of Gryffindor."

"Finally," said Ron, "I have some decent competition."

"Oi!" Seamus protested, "I almost had you that one time."

"Sometimes," Ron said conversationally to Theo, "I like to let people get ahead, make them think they have a chance of winning, just before I crush them."

"Oooh," said Blaise. "I think he just insulted you, Irish."

"Aye, Ron's a right bastard."

-oOoOo-

Harry didn't really like this game.

"I never… um… snogged under the Quidditch stands," said Hannah Abbot.

Harry drank. Beside him, Draco cackled.

"I never lusted after someone else's girl or boyfriend," said Draco.

Harry drank. Draco cackled again.

-oOoOo-

Ron looked up from his very intense chess match with Theo Nott into the face of an angel.

"Hi," the angel said nervously.

Ron, without taking his eyes off the vision before him, tipped his queen over. "You win, mate."

He took Hermione's hand and pulled her away to someplace private.

-oOoOo-

The water in the upper dungeons was a perfect four and a half feet deep. The more sober of the group set off some water purification charms, and made the torchlight a little brighter.

The girls shrieked at the cold, but a few warming charms later they were fine and cutting through the water like mermaids.

Blaise watched for a bit, admiring all the skin, and conjured a beach ball.

"Oh, good one," said Dean Thomas, as Ginny Weasley jumped around and batted it to one of the Patils.

"You lecherous beast," said Blaise. "That one's taken, isn't she?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Dean.

Blaise grinned. "I'll cover the other end, shall I?"

Dean laughed. "If he'll let you, I'll be much obliged."

Blaise didn't think that would be a problem. He wandered over to the 'other end' who was propped up on a wall near Draco, who was tittering at the green eyed boy.

"You're mean," Harry pouted.

This only made Draco laugh harder.

"You boys going swimming?" Blaise asked.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "M'drunk. Sort of. Don't want to drown again. Potion is nasty."

"I've got just the thing." Blaise wandered to the stairs near the water and conjured two smallish rowboats. "Let's have a race."

Harry grinned. "I'm in."

He climbed gingerly into the boat, and Blaise followed. Draco and Theo took the other. The girls helpfully pushed them past their beach ball game, and Harry giggled as the boats knocked into each other and the wall.

The upper dungeon corridor was a long one, spanning at least half a length of a Quidditch Pitch. "First one to the wall wins," said Blaise.

"Wait!" said Harry. "How do we row?"

"We're wizards, you fuckwit," said Draco. "We use propulsion charms."

"Oh, how does that work, then?"

"Watch and learn, little Gryffindor," purred Blaise. Harry blushed. Oh yes, Blaise thought, this wasn't going to be a problem at all.

Theo counted down from three, and Draco and Blaise pointed their wands to the water directly behind the boats, and they were off. It was hard to steer, so it was a bit more like playing bumper boats than a real race. But they were all laughing, and some of the girls were cheering.

"Oh, shit!" yelled Harry.

They were at the wall, somehow Potter had the sense to cast a cushioning charm, even in his inebriated state, and they safely bounced off the wall instead of crashing and being horribly injured.

"Fuck, that was close," Theo said, which of course set the other boys off laughing again.

-oOoOo-

Potter was very amusing when he was drunk. Draco had made certain that the 'I Never' game was particularly harsh for the Boy Wonder, and soon the others had joined in on the fun, saying things like, "I never defeated a Dark Lord," and obvious speculation into the extent of Potter and Girl Weasley's physical relationship.

It had taken Harry forever to figure out that they were picking on him.

To Draco's delight Potter and the Weaslette hadn't progressed past heavy petting. Potter had objected loudly to the teasing, citing that they'd only dated for a few weeks, and that he 'respects Ginny' and 'won't treat her like a slag'.

Draco began to suspect Blaise was right about Potter having hidden potential, because that was denial talking if he ever heard it.

The boat race was fun as well, and while they had tied, Draco would swear up and down that he and Theo had won by an inch. He had an image to maintain, after all, no matter the spirit of House Unity that had descended upon the students.

Draco could not recall having more fun at Hogwarts. No, clearly nothing could top drunken boat races in the upper dungeon corridor.

And then he saw it.

He turned back to look at the other boat, and all the hilarity of the moment died away. Blaise had a hand in Harry's hair, and he was kissing him.

A pit opened up in Draco's stomach, and he watched in horrified fascination as Potter relaxed into the kiss, parted his lips and their tongues touched.

It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Draco raised his wand and cast a spell. He watched with grim satisfaction as Potter and Blaise flailed for balance, just before the boat capsized and dumped them in the water. He should have known better though, nothing deterred Blaise when he was getting what he wanted. Blaise tugged on Potter's t-shirt, and pulled him under the overturned boat, hiding them from view.

-oOoOo-

He was kissing a boy.

He was kissing a boy, and he liked it.

Blaise's tongue mapped out Harry's molars, and his hands crept under his shirt. Correction, he _really_ liked it.

It was dark under the overturned boat, and their breaths and gasps echoed loudly in the confined space.

It was very different than kissing Ginny. Then there had always been an awareness of her fragility and her curves, and a sense that he had to be careful with her. There was none of that here. He could bite Blaise's lip, be rough with his hands, and pull their hips together. It only seemed to egg Blaise on.

The wall, and the edge of the boat collided with Harry's shoulders, and he liked that it hurt a little. Blaise worked his thigh in between Harry's, and he gasped at the sensation of the other boy's thigh rubbing against his cock, and Blaise's hard at his hip.

Already he'd gotten as far with Blaise as he'd ever gotten with Ginny.

Blaise pulled his mouth away. "Are you okay with this, Hero?" he panted.

Harry nodded; he couldn't speak, and pulled Blaise back with a hand at his neck.

-oOoOo-

Draco stormed towards the Den, anger and hurt bubbling under his skin. Theo was with him, but he hadn't said anything about Draco's obvious turn in temperament.

"You're jealous?" Theo asked.

"Yes."

"Do you really want Blaise back?" he asked.

Draco wondered if Theo was just giving him an out. Either he wanted Blaise back, or he wanted Potter, which was worse because it was embarrassing. There was no point in lying to Theo, though, and he would keep anything Draco said to himself.

"No, I don't want Blaise."

There was a beat of silence. "I see."

This _feeling_ about Potter didn't feel new. It felt a bit like rejection had at eleven, when Potter hadn't thought Draco was good enough to be his friend. But this was sharper, and hit somewhere above his stomach. Some part of him thought of Potter as _his_. He hadn't felt this way when Potter had been with Girl Weasley, and she'd been able to call Potter hers, so why when it was Blaise did it feel this way? Why did it hurt?

_Because Blaise is a boy_, a voice supplied. _Blaise is a Slytherin. Blaise is actual competition._ _That's what makes it different_.

He wanted Potter, and he'd realized it too late. Blaise had gotten there first.

-oOoOo-

A/N: Review? Please? Maybe?


	6. Like a Plague of Locusts

A/N: This one is a little short. It used to be a part of the previous chapter, but I chopped them in half, cause I felt it was a bit much to put in one chapter.

I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so very, very much. I've sucked lately at replying, and for that I apologize and hope you forgive me! The reason is that Script Frenzy has begun and I've been working on my original tv pilot stuff. Script Frenzy is TONS of fun, and I suggest everyone join up right quick. Plenty of April left.

_Chapter Six:_

_Like a Plague of Locusts_

-oOoOo-

On the third day, the press descended.

Draco was in an absolutely foul mood, snapping at everyone, and ordering them around like he was their General and they only lowly foot soldiers. Any good will Draco had garnered with the Butterbeer and firewhiskey was gone by nine am.

Pansy sighed, wondering what had set him off this time, and pulled Parvati away when she would have snapped back at him.

"He's being a jerk," the other girl objected.

"I know," said Pansy, "but when he's in one of these moods it's best to let him be until it passes."

He seemed to be especially angry with Potter, which a comforting throwback to the old days, because he sent the boy, bewildered by Draco's frigid rage, to the Owlry and not ten minutes later sent Ginny Weasley to the Owlry as well. Anyone with eyes knew those two didn't want to be within a Quidditch pitch of each other, let alone stuck together in a dark smelly tower with nothing but owls to distract them from the other's presence.

Blaise too, he seemed to be angry with, because he sent him off to work with Neville Longbottom, who was resolute in his decision not to give the Slytherins quarter, and was doing a pretty good impression of Draco's own icy anger.

Pansy was sure that whatever the story was it was probably a good one. One of those she'd be ordered to keep to herself if Draco gave up the goods. But Blaise was probably well aware of why Draco was angry, and would have no such compunctions about keeping secrets secret.

She resolved to corner him at lunch, when Blaise would be angry and ranting after a morning spent in Longbottom's disdainful presence.

Draco sent the others to the far corners of the castle, handing out the most difficult and foul assignments on the List, and demanded they be complete by lunchtime. Draco stayed in the Entrance Hall alone, fixing the broken Slytherin hourglass.

-oOoOo-

And because Draco was the only student near the Entrance Hall, he was the one to greet the group of reporters and photographers that descended upon Hogwarts like a swarm of ravaging insects.

There were more than twenty of them. Most of them barely gave him a passing glance, merely noting that he did not have terminal bed-head, glasses, or a scar, and dismissed him as unimportant. Naturally, this irritated him.

Rita Skeeter, though, recognized him instantly.

"Draco Malfoy!" she said, with a shark like grin. "There was a very interesting report out about you today from the Ministry. You and your mother cleared of all charges before you were even arrested! How does that feel?"

Draco eyed her Quick-Quotes Quill. "It feels just and fair, Rita. Just and fair. I assume you're here to see Potter?"

"Yes. Where is that darling boy?"

Draco was still so very angry, but he didn't think Potter would thank him if he threw him to the wolves. All eyes were on him now; they were feral and ready to pounce. Ready to be led on a merry chase.

"In the West Tower. Divination classroom? Terrible thing, what happened to those teacups."

There was a clamor to get up the stairs, and Draco called to their backs, "Wands out! He's very easily startled you know! Wouldn't want there to be an accident!"

The Acromantula that had taken up residence in the Divination classroom was very easily startled as well. He hoped that by the time the reporters fled screaming from the castle that he would be able to mark that off the List.

Draco turned back to the broken hourglass, fully intending to get back to work.

"You should go warn Potter," he said aloud to himself.

He didn't want to. He thought if he saw Harry he might do something stupid.

"You should do it anyway. He'll be grateful. He hates the press."

Draco whined to himself, hating indecision and cowardice.

He dropped the bag of emeralds to the floor. "Fine, fine. I'll be a nice person," he said. "I'll _try_ being a nice person," he amended.

There were raised voices coming from the Owlry. Draco crept up to the door, which was slightly ajar, and made sure the occupants of the room couldn't see him. There was no way he'd miss this fight. Nice person or no, there were some things he just couldn't resist, and eavesdropping was one of them.

"Ginny, it's just—it's not going to work."

"You've said that three times now, but you haven't given a reason! What is wrong, Harry?"

"Last night… Ginny, I…"

"What? Did something happen? Did you—oh, Merlin, were you with someone else?"

There was telling silence from Potter.

"Oh my God, Harry!" wailed Girl Weasley. "Who? Who was it? Was it Parkinson?"

Draco made a face. Pansy and Potter. He ordered his mind not to go there.

"No, it wasn't Pansy. It was—it was Blaise. Okay? It was Blaise."

Long heavy silence. Draco wished with all his heart that he'd been hearing this exact same conversation years earlier. It would have been glorious to spread this around school. Now though, it just hurt.

"You were with a boy," she said, her voice free of any inflection.

"Yes."

"But when we were together, you… Were you…" She sounded like she was going to cry. "Were you thinking about someone else?" her voice wavered.

"No, Ginny, no. God, no."

"I mean, I know Zabini has been flirting with you, but I didn't think you'd…"

"I'm sorry, Ginny."

"Uh huh."

"I'm so sorry."

"Harry, if you're… If you're g-gay, then… well, then you're gay."

"I don't… I don't know if I am."

"But you liked it, right?"

"Ginny…"

"I mean, you must have, if you're telling me. You wouldn't tell me if you hadn't liked it. And really," she said, crying now, "I'd almost prefer it this way, because if it's because you like boys then at least it's not something I did."

"Ginny, no, you didn't do anything! It's just—so much has happened since we've been together, and I don't know how to make it work with us anymore. I was so happy with you, but we're not those people any more."

"No, I suppose we're not." She sobbed brokenly. "I really wish we were."

"I'm so sorry, Ginny."

There was a shuffling, and then her sobs were muffled. Draco peaked into the room and saw Potter holding Ginny to his chest. Her fingers were clutched in his shirt, and they both looked so miserable that it made Draco feel better.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall, looking up at the sky through broken shingles.

-oOoOo-

Blaise was having a good day. A great day. Not even Neville Longbottom and his holier-than-thou attitude could bring him down.

It couldn't.

"Could you take care of that Devil's Snare? I mean, can you handle it?"

Blaise couldn't even tell if he was being an arse on purpose, or if he was just really good at being wide-eyed and solicitous. Blaise suspected the former. He so hated it when Gryffindors flaunted their Slytherin side.

"Sure, of course," he smiled tightly.

A ring of bluebell flames around the base of the plant, so the vines would retract, but not be harmed, and a simple spell to extract the roots and the surrounding soil. Levitate to pot, levitate pot to wheelbarrow, leave outside Greenhouse Three.

Easy.

He didn't know what crawled up Draco's arse and died this morning, but he didn't appreciate his friend taking it out on him. It was hot outside, and Blaise was sweaty and dirty. Blaise hated being sweaty and dirty—unless there was a very sexy cause for it. And there wasn't, because Draco had sent Potter off to the Owlry with his ex-girlfriend, who was no doubt trying to win Hero back.

Blaise kicked an empty pot. "Ow." He intended to have a very nice summer, including a very nice summer fling, and he intended that fling to be with Harry, because Harry was… well. Certainly a very quick study, if nothing else.

He smiled. A _very_ quick study.

They hadn't gotten all that far last night, just kissing and groping, and Blaise had come just by having Harry palm and stroke at him through his pants. It was almost embarrassing, but Harry had come just as easily. Blaise was hoping for a bit of a repeat sometime today.

So long as Girl Weasley and Draco didn't conspire against him, he was going to have a very nice summer indeed. And, you know, so long as Harry didn't freak out about the boy on boy thing. That would certainly put a kink in his summer. He didn't have the energy or the inclination to convince Potter that he might be gay or at least bisexual. The other boy had been slightly drunk last night, and they hadn't seen each other yet today, so it was entirely possible that Harry was going to act as though nothing had happened.

-oOoOo-

"You're in a better mood than I thought you'd be."

Pansy had found her friend in the Den, looking freshly washed, sunning himself in the enclosed courtyard. Blaise turned lazy eyes towards Pansy. "I'm dealing with my anger through the power of positive thinking."

"Plotting Longbottom's demise?"

"Longbottom and Draco. Alternating with dirty thoughts of Potter."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Has your scheme borne fruit so soon? Potter must be easy."

"He was a bit drunk," Blaise grinned. "Perhaps that impaired his judgment. Or perhaps my charm won him over."

"You have all the charm of a two ton Bludger. You forced your charm on that poor innocent boy, didn't you?"

He laughed. "He wasn't complaining."

"They never do until later," she said musingly. "Are you going to break the Hero's heart, Blaise?"

"I have no intention of doing anything to his heart."

Pansy sighed, wondering at how Blaise could miss the obvious. "Sweetheart, that boy is very different from you and I. He's a committer. He likes to put his little heart on the line, and if you're not careful you could very well hurt him without even realizing it. I'd be shocked if he hasn't already come clean to his friends. Not to mention Ginny Weasley. He'll feel like he owes it to her to be honest."

Blaise scrunched up his beautiful face. "Do you really think so? I need to be upfront and… honest… about my intentions?" The very idea looked distasteful to him. "I hate to be so blunt about these things. It's crude."

"He's a Gryffindor, Blaise. They need bluntness to understand anything, and what's more, he's got the whole of the wizarding world wrapped around his finger. He could cause a lot of problems for you if he cared to."

Blaise twitched uncomfortably. "You're right about that, at least."

"I know I am. I wouldn't be surprised to find that it's completely due to Potter that Draco isn't in Azkaban right now."

"Okay, you win," he said. "I'll talk to him first chance I get."

"Be gentle," she advised. "I hear Gryffindor hearts are fragile."

-oOoOo-

Harry didn't know how long he held Ginny as she cried, but it seemed like quite a long time had passed until she had cried herself out. He hadn't minded, as he felt he owed her at least this much. She wasn't just a former girlfriend, she was a good friend, and a Weasley—his almost family.

"We'll still be friends, right?" she said.

Harry was relieved. He'd wanted to ask the same question, but it would have felt tactless coming from him. "Of course we will."

Ginny smiled tremulously. "Good. You know, I'm hungry." She laughed a little. "All that crying, I guess. I got your t-shirt all wet, I'm sorry."

"It will dry," he said, thinking that he was very lucky to have Ginny Weasley in his life, and very lucky that she was one tough cookie, and a forgiving one on top of that. "Let's get some lunch."

"We didn't finish the Owlry," she said. "Malfoy's going to pitch a fit. What was his deal this morning anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "Last night it was almost like we were friends, if you can believe that, but then this morning it was like he'd regressed to his fifteen year old self."

"Friends, huh? With Malfoy? How does that work?"

"Mostly he picks on me, and it's up to me to find it funny instead of annoying."

She laughed. "You're a saint, Harry."

"Nah, he's not that bad anymore, and he is sort of funny."

"Yeah, I guess he is. I saw him do this impression of Flitwick—must have been your fifth year—but he did it all the time and it was so funny. Did you ever see it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I kind of always assumed he was making fun of me."

"Not always, but most of the time. Do you think he'd do the Flitwick one again if I asked?"

"So long as he has an audience I think he'll do just about anything," said Harry.

Ginny snickered. "That's so true!"

-oOoOo-

"I am so sorry," said Draco, putting a hand to his heart to show his sincerity. "I had no idea there was a giant man eating spider in the Divination classroom. Is everyone all right? Did you take care of the spider?"

The last, of course, was all he really cared about. The bedraggled, and somehow singed, press corps, muttered out a negative. Draco sighed inwardly. It was a single Acromantula. One would think a group of twenty trained adult witches and wizards would be able to handle _one_ Acromantula.

Draco, unable to warn Potter, had taken it upon himself to give a press conference, if you will, regarding the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. He sent his deepest regrets that Harry could not be there himself to answer their questions, but that Draco would be more than pleased to answer for him. Draco had rounded them all up in a little used classroom in the West Tower, which had a raised stage for lectures, and an elegant looking lectern for Draco to stand behind and look important.

Since Draco had been so busy with the school for the past week or so, he hadn't had the time to keep up with Harry Potter's press clippings, and had little to no idea what the media had been printing since the battle. He had even less of an idea of what, if anything, Potter had said to members of the press, but he thought he could make an educated guess. Likely something along the lines of, "Bugger," and, "Off."

Potter had no idea how to manage his own celebrity, so just this once, Draco would do it for him.

"I will begin with a short statement, and I will take your questions afterwards. The day following the battle, I returned to Hogwarts. Merely to collect my things, you understand. But I found the destruction to the school was worse even than I remembered, house-elves in disarray, and my own House dormitory flooded. I decided to stay. I felt that I owed it to my school to at least help the house-elves organize their clean up activities. I owled two friends, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, who were glad to help.

"Several days later, Harry Potter arrived at the school looking for me. I'm sure you are all aware that he was using my wand at the time of the Final Battle, and Potter wanted to return it to me. I am very grateful for Mr. Potter's thoughtfulness, as the wand I was using wasn't working well, and made my efforts difficult. Mr. Potter chose to stay at Hogwarts, thinking the actions of myself and my Slytherin friends were good ones. He too owled some of his friends, mostly members of the Defense club he started in our fifth year. There are now over twenty students, representing each House, here and working together towards one common goal.

"Our mission, regarding Hogwarts is to have her up and running on September first, ready to welcome old students back and new students in, and to have her looking better than she did before. We all love our school dearly, and can't bear to see her in such a state."

Draco looked earnestly at the members of the press. Some actually had tears in their eyes, and all looked a little soppy. Except for Rita Skeeter, of course, who was grinning delightedly. Yes, the wizarding world was going to eat this mush up with a spoon.

"I will now take your questions."

By the end, Draco had them eating out of the palm of his hand, lending out quirks and secrets of the Boy-Who-Lived like he was Albus Dumbledore with a pocket full of lemon drops.

"Can you tell us if Mr. Potter is currently seeing anyone? Romantically?" asked the witch from _Teen Witch Weekly_.

"I'm afraid Harry has asked me not to comment on his love life at this time."

"Are there comments to be made?" she asked. When Draco kept his mouth shut, she said, "What about his romance with Ginny Weasley? Has that been rekindled?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to say, 'No comment.'"

There were sighs of disappointment all around, but Draco had given them plenty to work with, and they were not dissatisfied.

"Well, on behalf of Mr. Potter, I'd like to thank you all for coming today." He smiled brilliantly. "Hopefully we can all do this again soon."

The reporters and photographers filed out of the classroom. But Rita Skeeter hung behind. Draco did not like the smile on her face.

"It's interesting," Rita said.

"What is?"

"Well, the last I knew, you and Harry Potter were bitter rivals. And now here you are, speaking for him, answering personal questions about him—but not questions about his love life." She smiled. "Whatever could it mean?"

To Draco's horror, he blushed. And in realizing that he was blushing, he blushed harder.

"Ah," she said, with a note of triumph.

Draco furiously tried to come up with something to say, something that could explain—

"I'll keep it to myself," she said. "So long as you give me the scoop when you two decide to come out with it."

It was too late to say anything but, "Of course, Rita. Like I'd want to talk to anyone else."

"Good boy, Draco Malfoy." She left with a smirk and twiddling of her fingers.

-oOoOo-

Someone had made his sister cry. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her cheeks were doing that blotchy pink thing, and Ron was going to punch whoever had upset his sister enough to make her _cry_.

It was like tunnel vision. Nothing else existed beyond getting to Ginny and finding out who'd done this to her, and making them regret it.

She was with Harry, who looked like he was doing his level best to cheer her up. But Harry was pants at cheering people up.

Ron took her arm and spun her away from Harry. "What happened?" he demanded. "Who did this to you?"

She glanced quickly at Harry. "Did what?"

Ron narrowed his eyes. "You've been crying. Why?"

"Oh, Ron, I'm fine. Leave me alone."

Blaise Zabini entered the Great Hall with Pansy Parkinson on his arm, and Ginny stiffened. Just a little tiny bit, but it was enough for Ron.

He charged. "Zabini, what did you say to my sister?"

Blaise looked up, expression mild, and then smoothing even further when he noticed how livid Ron was. "What are you on about, Weasley? What's wrong with your sister?"

He looked at Ginny, who looked quickly at the floor, hugging herself.

"What did you say to her?" Ron yelled.

Blaise looked at Harry and back at Ginny. "Ah. I see."

Suddenly Harry was in front of Ron, hands on his shoulders and trying to push him back. "Ron, Ron, wait—" he was saying.

"I didn't say anything to your sister," said Zabini.

This was obviously a lie. Zabini had done something, said something to hurt his sister. Ron knew it. "Leave off, Harry!"

"No!" Harry pushed him back a few feet, which at any other time Ron would have thought very impressive, because Harry was quite a lot shorter than Ron. But right now it wasn't impressive, it was annoying, because Harry was in the way. Harry should be beside him, helping him pound Zabini into the ground, because Ginny mattered to Harry too. "It wasn't Blaise," Harry was saying, almost yelling over the rage in Ron's head. "It wasn't Blaise. It was me."

"What?"

"It was me," he repeated. "It's my fault."

Harry was always saying things were his fault that actually had nothing to do with him, so Ron could almost have disregarded this, but his best friend's expression was filled with something other than guilt. Trepidation, worry, maybe?

"What?" said Ron.

Harry looked around at the crowd that had gathered. "Can we go somewhere else?"

No, they could not go somewhere else. Zabini could get away! Harry seemed to sense that Ron wasn't going anywhere.

"We broke up, Ron," said Ginny. "We broke up. There, are you happy?"

What? "No, I'm not happy. Why did you break up with my sister?"

"I—I just…"

Oh, it really _was_ Harry's fault, and if Hermione found out he was making Harry have this conversation in front of a crowd she would be angry and disappointed in him, and tell him once again that he had the emotional depth of a teaspoon.

"Yeah, okay, lets go." He grabbed Harry's shoulder and pushed him out of the Hall, trying to get them both outside.

But they didn't get even that far, because waiting in the Entrance Hall was a horde of reporters and photographers, quills scratching merrily and they were all wearing terribly gleeful expressions.

Ron and Harry froze as the flashbulbs went off.

"Harry," said Ron in an undertone. "I'm going to count to three and then you're going to run."

Harry didn't wait for the count, and flew back through the Great Hall and out a side door before anyone could even shout a question after him.

-oOoOo-

Harry felt like the worst Gryffindor in existence—running _away_ from danger? What was that? He'd be kicked out of the House. But reporters were scary, and knew how to mob a person, and Harry really hated to be reminded of his claustrophobia.

An arm shot out from behind a tapestry, and yanked him into the hidden passage.

Harry bounced off the wall, knocking his elbow hard. "Ooof!"

"Where are you headed, Potty?"

Oh thank, Merlin. It was just Malfoy.

"Just?" said the offended blond. Harry had apparently spoken aloud.

"There are reporters in the castle," Harry explained.

Malfoy snickered. "And you _ran_? Oh, Potter, one of these days we're going to have a talk about your ability to risk assess."

The coward had a point.

"You didn't, uh, talk to any of them?" Malfoy asked. "Did you?"

"No, no. But they heard that Ginny and I broke up."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Old news, that."

"Yeah, well…" Harry certainly wasn't going to talk to Malfoy about his current… situation. The blond would never let it go. Harry could hear it now, 'The Boy-Who-Liked-Boys.'

"Now it will be in the papers," Harry said. "Why won't they leave me alone?"

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about your little relationship woes being in the paper, and you know precisely why they won't be leaving you alone any time soon. You're the wizarding world's shining little hero."

"Well, I didn't do it for more press!"

"Yes, yes, you did it because you're kind and good." Malfoy sneered like this was distasteful.

"I did it because I _had_ to. There was no one else."

"Well, technically, for a time there it could have been me."

Harry waved this away. "No, it wouldn't have worked. There were other things going on that would have protected him before I took the wand from you."

"Like what?" he asked curiously.

"I can't tell you that."

Malfoy sniffed. "Well fine. Then, tell me, why did you and Girl Weasley break up again?"

Harry reddened. He'd rather talk about horcruxes, thanks. "I—I'm not going—"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Potter, just say it. It's easy. Here, I'll prompt you: 'I'm gay. Blaise Zabini and his magical, magical lips have opened my eyes.'"

"What?" Harry gaped.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I saw you, Potter."

"You did?" Harry squeaked.

"Well, it's not like you were being very stealthy about it. Kissing right there in the corridor. Anyone could have seen you."

"Did they?"

Malfoy waved a hand airily. "No, I don't think so. Everyone else was at the far end of the hallway."

"Why—why aren't you…"

"Mocking you? Calling you names? Designing badges to hand around?" Malfoy shrugged, smiling. "Let's just say that you're not the first to have his eyes opened by Blaise's magical lips."

"Wait, you and Blaise were—"

"Fifth year, yes. After that things, well you know, they sort of fell apart and Blaise wasn't going to put up with it."

"But you two were together."

"Yes, but it's not like it was anything serious. Blaise likes boys sometimes, I like boys, and we shared a dorm. It happens. It's well over with."

Harry felt as though his whole world had been turned upside down and been shaken like snow globe, and he was still waiting to find out where things settled. It had been a very strange few days.

"I have a question, Potter. Did you know before Blaise kissed you? Did you have any inkling at all?"

Harry had been thinking about this himself since he'd woken that morning with a blinding hangover and the memory of Blaise's tongue in his mouth and his hand down his pants. There had been a few times when he'd thought other boys looked nice, attractive even. Oliver Wood in Quidditch gear. Bill Weasley when Harry had first met him, and all Harry had been able to think was that Bill was 'cool'. Cedric Diggory had been handsome in a wholesome way. Blaise was beautiful, and looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine advertisement. Even Draco Malfoy had looked… well, handsome on occasion, when Harry had been feeling ambivalent enough to notice Malfoy as anything other than a pain in his neck.

"Yeah, I suppose," was all he would admit.

Malfoy nodded. He looked curious and intent, and Harry didn't know what that meant.

"Look, Potter, the thing about Blaise… I hope you're not thinking it's true love or anything as nauseating as that, because Blaise… Well, it's not that he's playing with you, it's just that this—" Malfoy sighed expressively. "It's just a bit of fun for him. So don't get attached. He's leaving for France at the end of the summer anyway."

"Oh."

Harry wondered if he should be hurt about being just a way to pass the summer for Blaise, because he wasn't. He didn't know what to think about it, really. It had only happened the one time, and Harry had been drunk, and he still didn't know if he actually liked boys, or if he still liked girls, or maybe he liked both. It was all terribly confusing. And why was Malfoy warning him, anyway?

"Why are you telling me this?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You know, I don't even know."

"Malfoy, are we—can we try to be friends? I mean last night was fun. With the 'I Never' game, even though you were picking on me, and the boat race… It was fun, wasn't it?"

Malfoy smiled slightly. "The 'I Never' game was very fun. I can't believe how long it took you to catch on." He laughed. "Oh, your face when Susan Bones said, 'I never defeated a Dark Lord,' and then Finch-Fletchley insisted you should drink twice."

"Well, it's just they're Hufflepuff, you know? You never expect Hufflepuffs to turn against you."

Malfoy laughed. "Come on, Potter. I'm sure the others have driven the evil reporters from the castle by now, so there's no need to be scared. I shall protect you."

"Right," Harry laughed.

"You doubt me? And you don't even know I've done for you this morning. I would take it back, I would if I knew this was the thanks I was going to get."

"Why? What did you do?"

Harry was absolutely horrified to learn that Malfoy had taken it upon himself to hold a press conference (a press conference!) in Harry's stead, and was only slightly mollified when Malfoy told him that he hadn't breathed a word of Harry's activities with Blaise the night before. And it was very amusing that Draco first sent them up to face an Acromantula.

"I think I did a wonderful job," the blond said. "Can I be your publicist?"

"I don't need a publicist."

"Oh, but you do. You definitely need one. And that person should be definitely be me, because I am terribly good at dealing with the press. You're wretched at it."

"You cannot be my publicist."

Malfoy humphed, but didn't look too put out. "You just wait until you see the paper tomorrow, and then you can decide. I am certain you will decide that I am right. You'll be very pleased."

-oOoOo-

A/N: More Harry/Draco interaction! And also, this chapter pretty much spells the end of Harry/Ginny stuff. Dean is away somewhere plotting his imminent wooing of Miss Weasley, so no worries about her. Worry about Blaise….

Ah, Blaise… How I love him.


	7. Alls Fair, So Long As You Win

A/N: I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've updated. Real life has been crazy lately. I got a review from today, which was the kick in the pants that I needed, so thanks dear reader! Anyway, I'll do my best to have chapter eight out quicker than this one. Enjoy the chapter, it's a fun one!

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Seven:_

_Alls Fair, So Long As You Win_

The front page of the Daily Prophet the day after Draco's 'press conference' was all about the student's reconstruction efforts. The main article did focus heavily on Potter, but Draco wasn't surprised or even angry, because right beside it, above the fold was his own face smiling charmingly.

Rita wrote an absolutely beautiful article about a young man hoodwinked by the Dark Lord, and forced into his service with the threat of his parent's deaths hanging over his young attractive head. How that same young man had been integral to the Dark Lord's downfall, and was now making amends by organizing the reconstruction of his beloved school.

Draco loved it, because it was all about him.

The wizarding world, which had also been hoodwinked and bought into the Dark Lord's Ministry, and hadn't realized until it was far too late, had taken Draco into their hearts and held him up as an example of what they all should be doing now that they'd seen the error of their ways.

Fluffy bunnies, kittens, and rainbows. And lots of fan mail.

It was glorious. Draco knew she'd only done it so that he'd have farther to fall when she outed him, but he was sure he could deal with that when it came.

It was a doubly glorious day, because yesterday Potter had stuck to him like glue after their conversation, and hadn't let himself be drawn away by Blaise. He and Harry had spent the afternoon casting duplication spells on the water pump, and had set up four more. The first was still working perfectly, but slowly. The upper dungeon level was now down to two feet of water, but given that there was a whole other floor flooded, and the dormitory levels of Slytherin House, it would take a very long time for one pump to do the job. Draco hoped that five pumps would speed it along.

Draco slapped Harry's hand as he reached for one of Draco's letters. "Check them for hexes first, you silly git."

Harry chuckled. "I thought you were going to say, 'No, mine!' like some toddler."

"That's coming next, but there's no reason you can't help me check for hexes."

Harry ignored this, and opened the letter anyway (after having checked it). "You have a marriage proposal here from Margaret Chenoweth. Oh, and she sent a picture." Harry blushed. "Oh, my."

"Let me see," Draco demanded. "Ah, Miss Chenoweth is very well endowed, isn't she? Here's the pile for ones with naughty pictures."

"You have a whole pile?"

"Seven, so far. This one in particular may interest you." Draco selected the only one that had so far come from a man, and passed it to Harry who blushed furiously, and buried it under the photo of Margaret.

"I don't want to see any more."

"Liar."

"I don't even know if I'm… you know, or not."

"Maybe you should experiment with Blaise a little and find out."

Harry shrugged, and dropped his chin onto folded arms. "Maybe."

Draco wanted to kick himself. Harry was supposed to say something like, 'Draco, how could you ever think I'd use Blaise in such a fashion? That's ever so wrong.' But he hadn't, and now Draco had gone and put the idea into his head. He could almost hear the cogs moving. 'It wouldn't hurt anyone,' Harry would justify. 'Blaise is leaving for France anyway, so it wouldn't matter, and nothing would come of it. And if it backfired horribly, then at least Blaise would be out of the country.'

Draco bit his lip viciously so he wouldn't come out and say something like, 'Or you could experiment with me.'

Instead he dropped a stack of unopened mail in front of the pensive Boy Wonder. "Help me check these for hexes."

It was nice, sitting with Harry like this. It was how things should have been. Harry should have taken his hand on the train. Harry should have had five years to convince Draco that the Dark Lord's way was not the best way. They should have been friends. Draco shook the thoughts away. None of that mattered. He was just glad it was happening at all. Especially given how he now felt about Harry Potter.

Draco skimmed a letter, another marriage proposal, and tossed it aside.

-oOoOo-

Harry knew he was being stupid, clinging to Draco Malfoy in hopes that he would help him figure out what the hell was going on in his head, and what to do about Blaise. But when Draco had told him yesterday that he was gay, well, it was like having an expert on hand—if only you could get the questions out. Someone who had the answers was there, and it was comforting—even if Draco himself was not.

Draco hadn't helped much, but he had distracted Harry for the entire afternoon working on the flooding problem, and had forced Harry to stay with him in the evening while he was fixing the Slytherin Hourglass and replacing the enchantments. By the time they'd gotten back to the Den everyone else had gone to sleep.

Including Blaise and Ron, who no doubt had a lot of questions for Harry. He hoped to avoid them for at least a little while longer, because he had no idea what to say to either of them yet.

"You know what we should do today?" said Harry.

"Hm?"

"We should check on the Room of Requirement."

"Why?" Draco asked shrilly.

"The fire? It might have destroyed more than the Room of Hidden Things."

Draco shook his head. "I don't want to. How about the Acromantula? Wouldn't you like to fight a nice Acromantula instead?"

"Why don't you want to—oh. Sorry."

"It's all right. Maybe some other time, I'm not ready yet."

Harry could have smacked himself for being so thoughtless. Crabbe had been Draco's friend once, no matter how he had turned out.

"Do you know how to fight an Acromantula?" asked Harry.

"Oh, like you've fought an Acromantula," sneered Draco.

"There was one in the Tournament," said Harry. "And in second year, Ron and I faced a whole nest of them in the—"

"Oh, spare me the stories. How do you fight an Acromantula?"

Harry told him, and Draco blanched. "We have to get that close to it? What if it bites me? We should make sure there's some anti-venom on hand, just in case."

"You'll do it?"

"Well, someone's got to go with you, and make sure you don't get yourself killed. And Weasley's not going to go toe to toe with a spider. He's scared of them, isn't he?"

Harry smiled. "This is going be fun. You'll see."

Draco muttered something derogatory about Gryffindors, and terror, and their crazy ideas of what constituted as foreplay.

-oOoOo-

Blaise was not happy. And he was confused. Was Hero really just trying to pretend the whole thing had never happened? He was avoiding Blaise like he was a plague carrier. It wasn't fair. Hero was supposed to be nice, and well, not acting like a Slytherin all of a sudden.

"What's wrong, darling?" asked Pansy.

"You know what's wrong," he said sullenly.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, and topped off Blaise's. "There, there," she said. "He'll come around. Just as soon as he figures out what to say."

"You don't know that. He might try to avoid me for the rest of the summer."

"Pouting does not suit you."

"Yes it does. I look beautiful no matter what I do." She sniffed. It was true and she damned well knew it. "What's he doing hanging around with Draco anyway? Last I knew they could barely tolerate each other."

Pansy hummed. "I wonder…"

"You wonder what?"

"Well, Draco was awfully angry yesterday morning, wasn't he? Do you suppose he was angry about you and Potter?"

Blaise frowned. "Why should Draco care? He hates Potter!"

"Yes, he hated him quite a lot, didn't he? Maybe a little too much."

"You don't think…"

She shrugged. "Draco's always very angry when he doesn't get what he wants."

Blaise did not like what Pansy was saying. He did not like it at all, because it felt like the truth. Draco had always been very passionate in his loathing of Harry Potter, and if he'd somehow turned his passionate loathing into something else then things were not looking up for Blaise's plans of a summer fling with Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was a committer, like Pansy had said, and unfortunately for Blaise, so was Draco. And since Draco was his friend, and one of his best, he would have to defer to Draco's _feelings_.

"Here darling, have a croissant, and I'll help you scope out your next conquest."

Blaise ripped off a piece of the flaky bread and tossed it in his mouth. "What do you think of Finnigan?" he said. "On a scale of one to ten?"

They looked at the sandy blond Irish boy together. "Oh, I'd say about an eight if we're just talking about looks, but if we're going overall then I'd have to mark him down to a six. He's rather loud."

"I like it when they're loud," said Blaise, and Pansy laughed.

-oOoOo-

"Retreat, Potter, retreat!" Draco yanked hard on the back of Harry's t-shirt. "Get the fuck out of here, you insane bastard!"

Finally, Harry took a step backwards, and Draco all but jumped through the trap door and scurried down the ladder, Harry not far behind. He was laughing.

"What is wrong with you?" Draco demanded. "Did you even see that thing? It's enormous!"

Harry's laughter had become slightly hysterical, and he was doubled over. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Draco's wrist.

"I know," he managed. "I've never seen one that big! Are you all right?"

"I am fine, because I have a fight or flight response. You, clearly, do not."

Harry pulled himself somewhat upright. "That was fun."

Draco goggled. "That was not fun. That was the opposite of fun."

Harry dropped to the ground and pulled Draco with him. "Let's just rest for a minute and we'll try again."

"We will do no such thing!" Draco shouted. "We've tried it your way, which very clearly did not work. Now we shall try it my way, which will be much better."

"Oh, all right," Harry said, smiling widely. "What's your way, then?"

"First, we need it incapacitated before we enter the room. Some kind of gas… a smoke bomb with Draught of Living Death in it?"

"But how will we make sure that we don't get knocked out as well?"

Draco gave him a look, which communicated that Harry was simpleton. "A mask, of course."

"A gas mask? Do wizards have gas masks?"

"Potter, you _are_ a wizard. Quit acting like you're separate."

Harry shrugged. "Sometimes I still feel like I'm a Muggle. Like I don't belong here, but then I never really belonged there either."

Draco waved this away. "You're ridiculous. You're a wizard and that's all there is to it. You belong here. Now, we can get the masks from the Potions classroom. They're used for brewing some NEWT level potions, and I'm sure there are some in the storage closet."

"Do you know how to make a smoke bomb? Because I don't."

"It's incredibly simple. Or it must be if the Weasley twins can do it."

Harry shook his head. "The Weasley twins are very clever." His face fell a bit. "Were very clever… Maybe I'll owl George and ask him if he can help."

Draco had forgotten that one of the twin terrors had died. "Right," he said. "You should do that. We can leave the spider for another day." He wasn't eager to get back in that classroom any time soon.

"Yeah, okay."

Ah, and now Potter was all down and depressed, and just a moment ago he'd been laughing like he'd never stop.

"There are other things that need to be taken care of before Monday anyhow," said Draco, trying to be practical. He hoped another mindless chore would bring Potter out of this instantaneous funk he'd stumbled into. "Come on, let's check the List and see what's left. I'm sure there's something terrifying and dangerous that you'll enjoy doing."

-oOoOo-

Lavender Brown stifled giggles behind her hand, and Parvati Patil put up a quick silencing ward.

"Oh, my god," she said, "They'll hear you!"

They'd gone up to scout out the Acromantula situation in the Divination Tower, and heard Harry and Draco Malfoy trying and failing to deal with it.

"What is it with boys? Must there always be a battle involved?" Lavender said, still laughing.

Parvati cracked a smile. "I know, they're ridiculous, but how were you planning on us dealing with it if even Harry can't?"

"Oh, it will be easy. We'll have to go shopping though. It might be a giant spider, but it's still just a spider."

Parvati shuddered. "I think I'd rather do just about anything else."

"But our mission requires shopping, Parv. Shopping!" Parvati still looked dubious, though she was just as eager to get the spider out of Professor Trelawney's tower as Lavender was, so Lavender brought out the big guns. "We're going to go shopping in the Muggle world."

"Really?"

Lavender smiled. Her best friend was hopelessly pureblooded sometimes, and didn't understand a thing about the Muggle world Lavender had grown up in. The girls had bonded long ago over a makeup kit Lavender had smuggled to Hogwarts under her mother's nose, and as luck would have it, Parvati had brought along a similar magical version of the same. Since then Lavender had shared her Muggle beauty magazines with Parvati—who'd been enamored, as there was no such thing in the Wizarding World, and kept her happy with bringing large boxes of the latest beauty products from the Muggle world at their returns from each holiday for them to test on themselves and each other.

"While we're there," said Parvati, mock casually, "will you take me to that place? Oh, what's it called? Sephora?"

Lavender grinned. "Ah, yes, the Mecca of beauty. We shall certainly have to make a stop there."

Parvati squealed happily. "You know what we should do? We should ask Pansy if she wants to go. I'll bet she's never been either."

"I like the way you think, darling."

Lavender and Parvati linked arms and went off in search of their new friend, and comrade in the love of makeup and fashion.

-oOoOo-

Pansy took back every negative word she'd ever uttered about Muggles upon entering Sephora. She had clearly been wrong, wrong, wrong. Muggles were wonderful. Muggles were brilliant. Muggles had a better skin care regime than she had.

"Parvati, have you seen this?" she said, thrusting a wand of lip-gloss in the other girl's face. "There's sparkles in it!"

Parvati cooed appreciatively. "Oh, you must get it!"

Pansy was even beginning to appreciate the Muggle clothes Lavender had transfigured for her. The Muggle girls were looking enviously at her shoes and handbag. Lavender had modeled them after pictures in one of her Muggle fashion magazines, saying that she couldn't afford designer things, but she was able to transfigure herself perfect imitations of them.

The three girls had Apparated to Diagon Alley, and from there taken a taxi to Sephora. The taxi ride had been nothing short of harrowing for Pansy, but she thought she'd handled it well.

After two blissful hours in the beauty store, they left with three large bags of makeup and accessories, and stopped briefly at another store, which was less interesting. Lavender bought three cans of something she called, 'bug bombs,' and they found an alley to Apparate to Hogsmeade from.

Feeling charitable after the shopping trip, Pansy accompanied the girls up to the Divination Tower to take care of a spider.

-oOoOo-

There was something funny going on with Harry, and Hermione intended to find out what it was. Ron had told her that Harry and Ginny had broken up, and all Ginny would say on the matter was that they were finished for good.

She suspected there was a Slytherin involved. Namely Blaise Zabini with a side order of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione liked to think of herself as being an enlightened and intelligent individual, who was capable of forgiveness. She could and would forgive Malfoy for all the slights he had dealt her in the past—the word 'Mudblood' didn't ruffle her feathers nearly as much as it bothered Ron, mostly because it didn't mean anything to her. So that was easy enough. Ron seemed to have been able to put aside his anger towards Malfoy as well, and Harry had done even more than that. He'd gone and tried to befriend the blond. So she could accept all these things, and leave them in the past.

She could and would not accept any harm that was coming to Harry _now_. She would not allow Zabini or Malfoy to hurt Harry. Especially not at the level that Zabini seemed to be playing at. She would not allow that boy to toy with Harry's heart. It would not be borne.

So with these thoughts in mind, she went to find her best friend, while a far corner of her mind dreamed up appropriate punishments for Zabini if she found that Harry had already been hurt.

She found Harry with Malfoy in the Great Hall. They were examining the rather large crack that had been made in the stone floor from spell heat.

"Can't we just fill it in with concrete?" said Harry.

"We could," said Malfoy. "But the break might have affected more than just the floor. It could have upset the foundations of the walls when the floor snapped apart. The crack is more than six inches wide in the middle, which could cause a lot of problems, and I don't know how to check for that, so we're going to have to leave the floor for the engineers to look at."

"Oh. I thought this would be an easy one."

Malfoy smirked. "Pick something else."

"I'd say we should start on the windows, but the glass hasn't been delivered yet, so that's out. I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"I need to check on the pumps again, and make sure that the spells are holding in the common room. Are you up for another trip into the deep?"

Harry smiled. "Course I am. What's a little water compared to an Acromantula?"

"Knowing you they're equally dangerous."

"I'm not planning to drown again," he said.

"You never do. I think someone cursed you with luck at birth—good and bad. There's no in between for you."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, you might be right."

Hermione watched the two boys from the doorway, trying to figure out what was going on between them. They were very friendly. It was still strange to see Harry with Malfoy without either of them hurling an insult or a hex, and even stranger to see them smiling at each other. Very, very odd things were happening in Hogwarts, she thought. The war had changed things, but fixing all that was broken was changing them even further. She'd never imagined that something like this could happen.

She cleared her throat, and the boys turned to look. "Harry, could I talk to you?"

"Sure, Hermione. I'll meet you in the dungeons?" he said to Malfoy.

Malfoy nodded, and didn't say anything to her as he passed, but gave her a look like he knew she was up to something, and he didn't think he liked it.

Harry sat at the table, and gestured for her to join him. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I talked to Ginny."

"Oh. I see. What did she say?"

"Just that you'd broken up, this time for good. She wouldn't say anything more. What happened?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. He was nervous about something.

"Harry, I'm not angry, or siding with Ginny or anything. It just… well, I don't understand, and I think there's something else going on with you lately, and I wanted you to know that I'm here to listen, if you need me to."

He almost smiled, but it didn't seem quite sincere. "Thanks Hermione. I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it just yet."

Sometimes what Harry needed was a push, and then he wouldn't be able to stop talking about what was bothering him. This was always a risk, though, because it could make him clam up further and she'd spend weeks waiting for the opportunity to ask again.

"Does it have something to do with Blaise Zabini?"

His head jerked up, and his cheeks flushed. Jackpot. "Why would you say that?"

"He's been flirting with you a lot lately. Has, um, anything come of that?"

"No—Hermione, I—"

"Harry, I hope you know that there is _nothing_ you can tell me that would make not want to be your friend. There is nothing you could _do_ that would make me not want to be your friend."

"I might be gay," he blurted.

She nodded, only surprised that it had taken so little for him to tell her. "Might be?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure, you see. Why aren't you surprised? Has it been obvious that I might like boys for so long that you've known for ages? Dear God, Hermione, why didn't you tell me?"

"Harry, calm down. I didn't know anything. I only started to think about it when I noticed how Blaise was acting around you, and that you weren't exactly… unreceptive to his efforts."

"Oh, good. I'm so confused. I mean, I was drunk when he kissed me, and…" He blushed. Hermione expected there was more than a single kiss involved. "Well, I was drunk, but I liked it. I liked it a lot. But it hasn't happened again, and I don't know if it was just because I'd been drinking, or some weird astronomical alignment made me go temporarily crazy, or if it's because I really do like boys."

"But you still like girls, right? I mean, you're still attracted to them?"

"Yes! I mean, Ginny's still… wow, and… But Blaise is pretty wow, too."

"He is very handsome."

"Yes, he is! Almost unnaturally so." Hermione laughed.

"Maybe you're bisexual. I suppose you won't know unless you experiment a bit, though I hope you'll be careful. I don't want you to be hurt."

"Malfoy said the same thing."

"Malfoy knows!?"

"He saw Blaise kissing me."

"Oh," she said, mollified. If Harry had told Malfoy before he'd told her, well, then she'd be right to be upset.

"I don't know though. I'd feel weird using Blaise as a test subject like that. I mean, I like him, but I don't think I _like_ _like_ him."

"I know what you mean," she said. "And you can't really be sure if you don't have feelings for the person. I mean, I like boys, but kissing Cormac McClaggen did nothing for me."

Harry made a face. "I still can't believe you did that."

Hermione shrugged unrepentantly. "I was angry with Ron."

"I know."

"Does Ginny know about what happened with Blaise?"

"Yeah, I told her. She was pretty cool about it."

"When are you going to tell Ron? He really wants to know what happened with Ginny."

"I don't even know anything for certain! I don't want to tell him I'm gay and then find out that I'm not."

"Harry, it's not like there's some test that we can perform to tell you for sure or not. It's all a matter of how you feel."

"Are you sure there's not? Nothing you've come across in all that time you've spent reading?"

"I'm sure. I know that would be easier for you, but it just doesn't work that way."

He looked grumpy at this, and Hermione patted his hand. "It'll be fine. I don't think Ron will take it quite as badly as you're imagining he will."

"Maybe not," he said. "But I don't know that for sure either."

-oOoOo-

"All right," said Blaise. "I'm just going to come out and ask."

"Ask what?" said Draco.

"Do you want Harry? Because if you do, I will back off. Bro's before ho's, and all that."

Draco just raised an eyebrow at his friend. "What on earth would make you think that?"

"Oh, just answer the question, Draco. I don't want to play these games."

"Answer mine, first."

"I asked first."

Draco shrugged indifferently and turned back to the water pump, and checked to make sure it was still operating properly. He'd been letting too many people see his feelings on this particular subject, and he was not ready to let anyone else in on the secret. It was bad enough that Theo and Rita Skeeter, of all people, knew how he felt about Harry (even if Rita had gotten it mostly wrong). He wasn't going to willingly give up the goods.

"I'm going to assume you said yes, because if the answer really was no you'd have bitten my head off for even suggesting it, and I am telling you that I am backing off of Hero. He's all yours."

"Why would you do that?"

Blaise sighed. "Because I just want a bit of summer fun, and Potter isn't the type to be into something like that. He's a relationship bloke, and you are too, no matter what you might say on the matter, so if you like Hero then you should be the one trying to catch him." Blaise made a show of examining his nails. "I think I'm being very magnanimous."

"I think you're being an arsehole."

"Look, Draco, if you want Potter then you should have him. You're my friend, and I'd like for you to be happy. And if that's with Hero, then so much the better. You really can't do better than Harry Potter."

"I could so do better than Harry Potter."

"I'm ignoring you. That's old Draco talking."

Draco sniffed. "Fine. I have a crush on Harry Potter. Are you happy now?"

"No, but I will be as soon as I figure out if Finnigan is a pillow biter."

Draco snorted. "Finnigan, really?"

"Hey, I'm conceding the field to you with Potter. There's not much left bloke-wise around here."

"Maybe you should go back to dabbling in girls."

Blaise waved this away. "They're too emotional. I want an easy summer."

"All class, you are," Draco muttered.

"Now that you've admitted it, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. Nothing. He's still confused."

"Remember how I relieved you of your confusion?"

"You shagged me until I forgot there was even a reason to be confused."

Blaise nodded, smiling. "So I did. Have fun, and know that I completely envy you."

Blaise left, and Draco adjusted his trousers. Just thinking about it had left him hard.

-oOoOo-

Theo didn't know what he was meant to be doing. Blaise was off pouting with Pansy, and Draco was with Potter, and Theo knew better than to insinuate himself into either situation. He was fond of his friends, but their romances and intrigues grew tiresome. Mostly because the other three were such attention whores and drama queens.

Theo was neither. He was a special class of Slytherin (the true kind, he liked to think) who knew how to watch and wait, and better still, knew that he ought to keep his own council on all things.

Most people called it being shy.

But Theo came by it honestly, having been raised by a father who'd been getting on in years and didn't have the time or inclination to pay much attention to a child anyway. He'd grown up in the company of house-elves, and hadn't so much as _seen_ another child until he'd come to Hogwarts.

Needless to say, his first year was a bit of a transitioning period, but by that time he'd established himself as Quiet Theo Nott, or Creepy Theo Nott, if the speaker wasn't a Slytherin and didn't understand such things. Being Quiet Theo had come in handy, it turned out, but having a Death Eater for a father had been much less so, and he hadn't been able to avoid the Carrow's attention.

This summer, he thought, was going to be a bit of a transitioning period as well. His father in prison, facing The Kiss, and Theo finally out from under his influence. He could finally be his own person; he wouldn't have to be Quiet Theo for the rest of his life. He could be Fun Theo, or Studious Theo, or Unspeakable Theo, or Ace Reporter Theo. The possibilities were endless and intoxicating. He didn't really know how to go about changing, and he didn't really know what he'd like to change into, but he wasn't worried. That was what transitioning periods were for.

He had taken a look at the List during breakfast, and paid attention to what the others said they were working on that day, but hadn't decided himself what he would do. Perhaps he wouldn't do anything, perhaps he would be Lazy Theo.

This thought made him smile slightly, and he left the Great Hall where Draco was trying very hard not to stare too long at Harry Potter.

He wandered the castle, casting cleaning spells whenever he found something that needed cleaning. True, most of it wasn't caused by the battle, but accumulated dust and dirt from centuries of use, but Theo was at least doing something, and if anyone asked he could say that he'd been helping.

He'd wandered all the way up the seventh floor and came upon a wall that still bore the DA's graffiti. "Dumbledore's Army: Still Recruiting" the wall proclaimed in bright red and gold paint. Theo shook his head at the brashness of Gryffindors, and wondered if this sprawl of messy paint had brought them more members, or if it had just been there to give hope to those who'd been fighting.

Theo conjured up a bottle of olive oil and a scrub brush, and started to scrub the paint away.

"How did you know?"

He turned. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were standing nearby holding buckets and scrub brushes and bottles of olive oil. "How did I know what?"

"That it only comes off with extra virgin olive oil?"

Theo smiled to himself, and imparted a great secret. "When your brothers started up their shop, the Slytherins knew that we'd be victim to lots of their pranks, and we made a list of the counter-curses and cures for each of your brothers prank items. It's required reading for first years now."

Ginny smiled slowly. "That's very clever. Do you think I could have a copy of that list?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"You knew all along," said Luna suddenly. "You knew how to remove the signs, and none of you ever said anything."

Theo shrugged. "There wasn't any point."

"You could have gotten points with the Carrows," said Ginny.

"I didn't want any," he said. "They would have expected me to earn more 'points', as you say, and I didn't want them to notice me."

"Oh."

Theo doused the wall with more oil, and the girls joined him in scrubbing away the paint that had brought hope in dark times.

-oOoOo-

Even after talking to Hermione about it, Harry didn't know what to do about the situation he'd found himself in. He'd spent the afternoon with Draco, who had been acting very strangely, and never quite looking him in the eye, inspecting the water pumps, and the charms on the window, and going around to make sure everything else was coming along. The school still looked like it had been a war zone, but he couldn't deny that it was looking much better than it had.

It had been two days since he'd been with Blaise, and he hadn't spoken to the other boy since. He knew it was stupid, and cowardly, but he didn't want to confront him until he was sure of what he wanted to say and do.

He still didn't know.

After dinner, he went up to Gryffindor Tower alone. It was the first time he'd been there in quite a long time, and there was indeed an enormous hole in the roof. It was easy enough to see what had caused it, because there was a large stone gargoyle on the common room floor in pieces, surrounded by broken beams and other rubble. His favorite chair had been crushed.

Harry picked around the mess, and went up the staircase to his old dormitory. It looked very nearly like it did at the start of each school year; only there were no trunks at the foot of each bed. It was like coming home.

Harry smiled, and threw himself onto his old bed. It was just as comfortable as he remembered it being all those nights he'd spent wishing for it when he'd been sleeping in that tent with Hermione and Ron.

Here he could think.

Harry lay back on the pillows and sighed. He'd spent a lot of time in this bed thinking about girls. First Cho, and then Ginny. Boys had never entered the equation then, but this seemed an appropriate place to consider it. With Cho he'd been enamored with her shiny black hair and her pretty face. He didn't really like her that much (at least not like that) once he'd gotten to know her. Maybe that wasn't fair, when she'd still been grieving over Cedric, but it was true enough. When he'd thought about Ginny here, it had always been with a tinge of fear—either Ron would be upset, or she was in danger from Voldemort. But the last wasn't a problem any longer. He was free to date whomever he liked and not fear for their lives, just because of their association with him.

He'd liked kissing Blaise, and he thought he wanted to do it again. He just didn't know if he should.

He liked Blaise, but the feelings didn't go any deeper than friendship and idle lust. Blaise was beautiful, and after kissing him Harry didn't think it was possible to look at the other boy and not feel a bit of lust. Blaise had woken him up to the possibility of lust being for boys too, and kissing and touching and being touched by a boy was just as pleasurable (if not more) as doing so with a girl. It was just so different with Blaise than it had been with Ginny. Rougher and sharper, and far more desperate. Harry had liked it.

Harry had liked Blaise's narrow hips, with bones that bit into his, and how close they'd been able to be without any breasts getting in the way. Like both of their sharp angles and cocks and smooth muscles could somehow fit together if only they could find the right configuration—like puzzle pieces. And really, the feel of Blaise's cock under his hand was reason enough to try again. He wanted to know what it felt like when someone else's naked cock rubbed against his. He wanted to know what it felt like to fuck and be fucked. He wanted to know what Blaise's cock tasted like.

He shivered, and pressed down on his growing erection with his palm.

_Yes, okay_, he thought, _I like boys_.

But he still didn't know what to do about it.

-oOoOo-

Blaise had come to the conclusion that Hero wasn't going to approach him any time soon, so it would be up to him to find the Boy Who Was In Denial and force him to talk. He saw Potter leave the Great Hall after dinner, Draco's eyes tracking his departure, and Blaise followed.

He wasn't all that surprised that Hero went to Gryffindor Tower. Blaise loitered in the hall outside for a bit, and eventually made his way inside. The house-elves apparently hadn't gotten around to clearing up the mess in the common room, either because they hadn't had time, or because they weren't able to do anything about it. Hero was nowhere in sight, so Blaise picked a staircase and went off to find him.

He nearly groaned aloud when he did, and almost turned around to leave and have the conversation later. But Hero was lying on a bed with his eyes closed, and his hand was teasing what looked like a very impressive hard on through his trousers.

Blaise was only human.

A very small voice in his head feebly reminded him that he'd conceded the field to Draco, but lust at this point was far louder and blood was rushing in his ears. Hero was gorgeous, and so completely unutterably sexy lying there completely at his ease and Blaise wanted… oh, he wanted.

"Hero," he said.

Harry's eyes shot open. "Blaise!" he said in a panicky caught voice. He raised himself up on his hands. "I—you… Oh, Merlin."

Blaise wasted no time crossing the room, and crawled over Harry, bringing the other boy's erection into contact with his thigh, and took Harry's head in his hands and kissed him. Harry groaned and arched into the contact. The kiss was fierce, harder and harsher than the ones they'd had the other night, and Harry was giving as good as he got. Harry's hand latched onto the back of Blaise's neck, not letting the other boy break the kiss.

Blaise snaked a hand down Harry's chest to palm his cock, and Harry gasped. Blaise bit his neck. "You're so fucking hot."

Harry moaned something unintelligible and rocked his hips into Blaise's hand eagerly. "I want," he said. "I want…"

Blaise kissed his mouth. "What do you want?"

"I—I don't know." Blaise smiled, and squeezed lightly. "More of that," Harry gasped.

He pushed Harry back so he was lying back on the pillows once more and brought their hips into perfect contact.

Surely, Blaise thought, it wouldn't count as betrayal if he and Potter kept their clothes on. Right? But Draco's face loomed large in his mind, looking angry and hurt, and how his friend's eyes had tracked Potter leaving the Great Hall.

"Fuck," said Blaise, and rolled off of Harry. The other boy whimpered at the loss.

"Why did you stop?" Harry demanded.

Blaise felt sulky, and unbearably turned on. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't he have waited to have that conversation with Draco until tomorrow? Or perhaps never?

"I promised someone that I would leave you alone. I just couldn't help myself for a moment there."

Harry propped himself up on an elbow and frowned darkly. "Who made you promise _that_?"

"I can't say," said Blaise. "I'm sorry about this." He gestured to their twin frustrated states.

Harry blew out a long breath. "Who?" he asked again.

"Harry, I can't say."

He narrowed his eyes, as though he could discern the identity of said cock blocker. "Was it Hermione? Ginny? Ron?"

"I can't say," Blaise repeated, and started to get up to leave. He did owe Harry a bit more of an explanation, but he wouldn't play this guessing game.

"Was it Draco?" That made Blaise pause for an infinitesimal moment, just at the fact that Potter had even considered Draco. Did Potter know, or suspect, that Draco had developed feelings for him? Potter noticed Blaise's twitch. "Does he want you back?"

"How did you know about Draco and I?"

"He told me," Harry shrugged. "So he wants you back?"

"I—no, definitely not."

"So why does he care?"

"Harry, just leave it okay?" Blaise ran a hand through the frowning Gryffindor's mop of black hair. "I, um, hope you're not too mad at me."

"No, no… it's fine. I shouldn't be doing this anyway."

"Not doing what?"

"Not… I mean, Blaise, I like you, but it's not—"

"Not a serious feeling. I know. I like you like that too." Blaise smiled. "But it's been pointed out to me that you're a relationship sort of guy, and I'm not."

Harry looked at his hands. "I guess I am."

"And I'm going to University in France at the end of the summer, so it wouldn't be smart to start something serious anyway."

"Yeah, Malfoy said something about that."

Harry looked disappointed, with a hint of rejection lingering in the set of his mouth. Blaise wanted to kiss it away, but he had promised. He repeated this to himself like a mantra, 'I promised, I promised, I promised', and somehow he kept himself from skimming his lips up Harry's neck, and licking into his mouth.

"Damn it," said Blaise aloud. Harry looked up at him, those damned green eyes asking Blaise what was wrong. Blaise smiled tightly. "I'll see you later, Hero. I'm sorry about all this."

Harry shook his head. "Don't be. I'm not. Except for whatever Malfoy said to you to make you stop. I'm sorry about that."

Harry looked fierce again, eyes blazing with lust and irritation, and Blaise so envied Draco for when he'd have that look turned on him. Only with Draco it would be tenfold, with a hell of a lot more anger, and all that old bitter rivalry the two had bubbling underneath it all.

Yes, Blaise was jealous. But he had promised.

-oOoOo-

A/N: Ah, Blaise. And the boys are that much closer to getting together… though there's a wrench in the works that will have to be dealt with. A cock-blocked Harry is not a happy Harry!


	8. Clear as Mud

A/N: I have no excuse. I have this chapter and another written, so I'll put them up now. But there's still a chapter or two left of this fic that aren't written, so it's still not finished. Sorry, darlings.

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Eight:_

_Clear as Mud_

The glass was delivered on Friday morning by a Muggle lorry. A couple of squibs, Draco suspected, unloaded the paper wrapped packages by hand onto the grass by the front door. There were nearly a hundred neat stacks of labeled packages: beveled, etched, and simple blown glass that had pretty little bubbles that sparkled in the morning light.

Draco hoped someone had written down which type went where, because he had no idea.

He oversaw the unloading, and carefully counted to ensure the company hadn't 'forgotten' to deliver it all, and snapped at the squibs when it looked like they weren't being careful enough.

When they'd gone, sending Draco rude gestures as they drove away in their silly Muggle vehicle, Draco smiled. It was going to be fun day.

"All right, you lazy bastards," he said, greeting his classmates who were sitting down to breakfast. "Today we're all working on the same project. The glass for the windows has just been delivered. Between the lot of us, I think we can have the job done in two days. Are you with me?"

There were mutters of dissension. Draco growled inwardly. "Right. We're going to need brooms."

"We get to fly?" said Potter, finally showing a bit of excitement.

"Some of us will. Those who are most comfortable on a broom, I suppose. Everyone else start brushing up on your levitation charms, you're going to be using them a lot today. Everyone pair up, a flyer with someone willing to stay on the ground."

Draco paired with Pansy, and soon enough they were all outside.

Draco selected a window close to the ground to demonstrate on. He had Pansy levitate the glass in the air, near to the window, and Draco guided it to its fittings. The company had sent along an ample amount of Super Sealing Sealant in bright yellow tubes, and Draco squeezed this along the edge, and finished it off with a scraper that made a nice beveled edge.

"Does everyone understand?"

Everyone nodded. This was a terribly easy job. The only tricky part for some would be keeping the pane of glass they were levitating steady. Luckily the panes were all fairly small—there were just an awful lot of them.

It was a gorgeous day for this kind of work. Draco and Pansy began working on a window on the second floor, and Pansy conjured herself a beach umbrella and beach chair to lounge on as she floated the panes of glass up to Draco.

By lunchtime they had repaired four windows, and Draco had replaced sixty-four panes of glass. Draco's arms ached from holding the glass in place, and his thighs ached from the effort of flying sedately for an entire morning. Pansy looked fresh as a daisy when he descended.

"Darling, you look a little sunburned," she said, peering at him over large sunglasses and sipping a glass of lemonade. "You should have put on a skin protection charm."

"Bitch," he said with little rancor. "Where did you get the lemonade, and why didn't you get me any?"

An elf appeared at his side holding a gleaming silver tray with a glass of lemonade. Draco took it was a small nod, and the elf vanished. He kicked Pansy's legs aside and sat at the foot of her beach chair. She crossed her ankles over his knee. She was barefoot.

"You are such a lazy bitch," he said.

She smiled. "You love me."

He did. She was just as free with her affection as she was with her caustic bitchiness. Draco liked the duality. She was his best friend.

He sipped his lemonade and looked around to see how the others were doing. His gaze, naturally, fixed on Harry Potter who was flying while Parvati Patil levitated glass up to him. Potter was looking very yummy today wearing a gray t-shirt just a shade too tight, and Muggle jeans that fit _just_ right.

Draco looked his fill, uncaring of Pansy's smug I-knew-it smirk.

"It's true then," she said. "You've got it bad for Potter."

"Yes," he said simply.

She let out a happy sounding sigh, and settled back into her chair. "This is a good summer," she said. "I was dubious at first, but it's a good summer."

Draco smiled slightly, and watched Harry Potter neatly caulk another windowpane.

-oOoOo-

Harry didn't know what the hell Draco Malfoy's problem was. After Blaise had left him still hard and wanting in his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, Harry had thought and brooded and stewed and come to the conclusion that he'd been right all along and Draco Malfoy was a bastard. Where did Malfoy get off, telling Harry that maybe he ought to experiment with Blaise, and then warning Blaise off? What kind of sense did that make to a normal person? Malfoy had said that his relationship (if that's what it was) with Blaise was over and done with, never to resume.

Harry could only deduce that the blond had been lying through his teeth and still had feelings for Blaise. Harry didn't know why Slytherins just couldn't be a little honest once in a while, and give dense Gryffindors like himself a break. It wasn't as though he didn't have enough to confuse him at the moment.

So Harry fitted glass into windowpanes, and caulked them perfectly, and still he brooded.

He wondered what he ought to say to Draco. Last night he fancied that a nice sock to the jaw might get his point across, but today that seemed a little harsh.

Harry didn't like being toyed with. He didn't like that Malfoy had put Harry right in the middle of whatever game he was playing with Blaise. He didn't like that Blaise hadn't finished what he'd started last night. He was tense and a little angry, and not even flying was helping.

The worst thing about Malfoy's weird behavior and possible betrayal was that Harry had been starting to like him. Genuinely like him for the sarcastic exhibitionist that he was. Malfoy was entertaining, and smart, and Harry had just liked spending time with him. But now he felt like a friend had stabbed him in the back, or something to that effect, and he wanted to go back to hexing Malfoy just a little bit before he pinned the other boy down to ask him what the hell his problem was.

Harry wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and waved Parvati off when she gestured towards their stack of glass. It had to be nearly lunchtime. The sun was hot and high in the sky.

Far below, Pansy and Draco were sitting beneath a large white umbrella, looking quite at ease with each other. Harry wondered about them for a moment. He'd always assumed that Pansy and Draco were boyfriend and girlfriend, just from the way Pansy was constantly touching him, but then he'd learned about Blaise, and… Perhaps. Harry didn't know, but they were very familiar with each other.

Thinking about it made his stomach feel hollow. He didn't know why.

Some of the girls had decided that lunch would be served picnic style by the lake, and encouraged the house-elves to bring out blankets with the platters of food and cold beverages for everyone to lounge on.

Everyone tried to crowd into the shade left by the few trees by the lake, and when there wasn't enough space for everyone, Pansy conjured up more of her white umbrellas.

Harry joined Ron and Hermione who were sitting in a depression that looked like a giant's footprint.

"How was your morning?" asked Harry.

"I hurt everywhere," Ron complained, while Hermione chirped that it was just fine.

The three sat in the hallow, shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, with Hermione planted in the middle. Harry dropped his head back to lean on the higher ground.

"I feel like a nap," he said.

"Harry?" said Ron. "I've been meaning to ask you, and Ginny won't talk about it, but what happened?"

Harry tensed. He wanted to have this conversation about as much as he wanted Voldemort to come back. "We just decided it wouldn't work out," he said.

Hermione, next to him, sighed, but didn't say anything.

"Oh," said Ron. "But why not? I mean, it was obvious you missed her."

"Yeah, I did, but… I guess we're just too different now for it to work."

Ron didn't have anything to say about that. Hermione between them took their hands in hers, lacing her fingers with Ron's. She dropped her head onto Ron's shoulder contentedly. The sun sparkled prettily on the lake, and the grass was a pure deep green. A couple birds twittered nearby.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" she said.

-oOoOo-

Luna twisted her long blonde hair behind her head to act as a pillow, and laid back on a flat rock near the lakeshore. Her fingers clasped over her stomach and she looked up at the clouds. She thought she could see a rabbit, a cauldron, maybe a dragon, and a top hat if she squinted at them just right.

She had been working with Ginny on the windows, and truthfully her levitation charms had grown rather listless. The repetitive motions had allowed her mind to drift, and for some reason all she'd been able to think about was being imprisoned in the Malfoy's cellar with poor Mr. Ollivander, and being worried that he would die. He'd been so sickly when she arrived, and his condition seemed to worsen with each passing day. She hoped he was doing well now. She wondered if his shop was busy, and if he was making any new wands.

Luna's new wand was made of hazel with a Fwooper feather core. Mr. Ollivander said it was one of the most unique wands he had ever made. It worked better for her than her old wand ever had. Luna thought she might send Mr. Ollivander a letter to let him know.

"May I sit with you?"

Luna shielded her eyes, and squinted at the dark shape at her side. It was Theo Nott.

"Of course," she said, and scooted over a bit to give him room. He laid down on the rock too; putting an arm behind his head because he didn't have long enough hair to made a makeshift pillow.

They were quiet for a while, but then Theo raised his arm and pointed. "That one looks like a niffler," he said.

Luna smiled. "Or perhaps a crup."

Theo hummed.

Luna thought maybe she had already forgiven him.

-oOoOo-

Blaise was still miffed about his aborted summer romance with Hero, and even smarting a little from what had not happened last night in Gryffindor Tower. He didn't think Harry had spoken with Draco about any of it yet, as Draco wasn't trying to wring Blaise's neck or even looking at him like he wanted to.

But still, Blaise was miffed, and he intended to proceed with his summer romance plans—even if they no longer included Harry Potter.

But first, he needed to gather some information, because while it had been worth it to spend some time seducing Potter, he felt as though he had no more time to waste. He was horny, and hadn't had sex in many months, and that problem needed to be rectified immediately.

"Thomas, may I have a word?"

The Gryffindor was sitting with Ginny Weasley and the current object of Blaise's fantasies, and followed Blaise away with a perplexed look on his face.

"What's this about, Zabini?"

"I don't think you'll be having any trouble now from Potter, thanks to my efforts," he began. Thomas started to grin.

"That really worked?" he said.

"Of course it did." Blaise was irresistible. He thought everyone knew that. "But I've been ordered to lay off Boy Wonder for now."

"Ordered? By who?"

Blaise shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I am in desperate need of some sexual relief, and I was hoping you could answer a question for me."

"I don't swing that way, mate."

"Not you, you ignoramus. I'm talking about your friend Finnigan. Does he swing my way?"

Thomas blinked. "Uh, he's been known to. Finch-Fletchley, you know."

The Muggleborn Hufflepuff? Blaise found Justin's curly blond head by the lake with some of his Housemates. He hadn't had any idea. Interesting. "Are they still..." he asked leadingly.

Thomas shrugged. "I don't know. Not so far as I know. They fooled around a few times sixth year, but I don't think it's started up again."

Blaise nodded. This was good news. "Thanks, Thomas. You've been a great help."

"Sure. Thanks for, uh, you know, with Potter."

Blaise smiled. "Oh, believe me, it was my pleasure."

-oOoOo-

In the afternoon it seemed Draco decided his time would be better spent supervising the other's work. Harry suspected this was because Draco was bored, and wanted an excuse to fly around the castle rather than stay basically stationary like everyone else. The blond made lazy loops and turns, and barked out orders whenever he deemed appropriate or he felt he wasn't getting enough attention.

From what Harry could tell, Pansy was filing her nails under her bright beach umbrella, and didn't seem to mind her friend's slacking off—because that's all it was, and everyone knew it. This was especially galling, because Malfoy was such a slave driver with everyone else. Only the Hufflepuffs didn't seem to mind.

Draco snapped at Ron not to leave smudgy fingerprints all over the windows, for Merlin's sake, and Harry rolled his eyes.

He told Luna to watch it with her levitation charms, and that it might help if she was actually looking at the object she was levitating and not staring at Theo's bum. Luna blinked owlishly, and Harry scowled.

Draco told Dean that he was using the caulk scraper all wrong, and asked why the other boy hadn't been paying attention earlier, and why on earth hadn't he caught on before now, and if Draco had to go back and reset all of Dean's windows he was going to be upset. Harry clenched his jaw, and flew down to sit with Pansy.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" he said.

Pansy looked up from where she was now painting her nails a bright pink. "Hmm? Oh, Draco? He's bored."

"He's nagging everyone. Like a fishwife."

She snickered. "Dare you to tell him that."

An elf appeared by Pansy's chair with two glasses of lemonade. "Would sir and miss like some refreshment?"

"Thank you, Sunckers," chimed Pansy, taking a glass. Harry did the same. "Don't mind Draco, Potter. He's a bit of a perfectionist. Nothing is ever really good enough for him. It's best to just humor him when he gets like this."

"This happens often?"

"Apparently he's at his worst at Quidditch practice, but that's probably your fault. He can be a real arse about his Transfiguration projects too."

From high above Draco barked, "Potter! What are you doing? Get your lazy arse back to work."

Pansy chuckled. "Best to do as the blond harpy says, Potter."

Harry drained his glass of lemonade and flew as slow as he possibly could upwards. Pansy's words rang in his head for some reason. '_Nothing is ever really good enough for him. It's best to humor him_…' And Harry started to wonder.

-oOoOo-

Everyone enjoyed the picnic lunch by the lake, and decided to do the same at dinnertime and they simply never went back inside. When the sun started to go down and it grew cool the house-elves came out with cocoa and marshmallows, and made a bonfire for the students on the rocky shore of the lake.

They roasted the marshmallows, and drank the cocoa and Susan Bones wanted to play Truth or Dare, so they did.

When stars began to prick the sky, Draco stood up and brushed off the seat of his pants. "I'm going to go check on the water pumps."

The others waved him off with relative good humor, because Susan had gotten Draco to admit that he has a short attention span, and his arse hurt from sitting still on his broom for the whole morning, and that was why he'd been so snarly in the afternoon.

He'd gotten her back, making her kiss MacMillian, and left before his friends could get any bright ideas about making him kiss a certain green eyed hero.

Draco strolled up the lawn with his hands in his pockets, humming a Weird Sisters song under his breath.

The thing with Potter was that nothing was going to happen. There was no way Harry Potter would ever have anything to do with a former Death Eater, no matter how popular Draco currently was with the public. Then there was their history. A truce and maybe friendship was possible, but a relationship, Draco felt was out of the question. He was shocked that he had gotten to this point. Harry Potter would never reciprocate Draco's crush.

He should have let Blaise have his fun.

By the end of the summer, Draco and Harry would be going off in separate directions anyway. Draco would hopefully be going back to Hogwarts to study for NEWT's, and Potter would… well, Draco didn't know what Potter would do. Probably join the Auror training program. NEWT's or not, the Ministry would be fools to deny the Boy Who Lived Twice entrance. And then they'd likely not see much of each other again. The wizarding world was a small place, so they may run into each other occasionally in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, but really, Draco thought, he was unlikely to see much of Potter after this project was over.

He bowed his head, and his steps turned to trudges. Time and distance, he hoped, would put an end to this unrequited crush.

The water pumps were working steadily, and the water level had dropped another four feet since the last time he'd checked. He debated for a moment on whether he should check the hoses for obstructions, and the charms on the window in the common room, but he didn't really feel like getting wet.

"Hey."

Draco started and turned. Harry was standing not ten feet away, looking pale in the dim torchlight. "Hey," he returned.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"All right," Draco said warily.

"Blaise told me that whatever was going on with us is over."

Draco wondered where he was going with this, and if he should pull out his wand. "Oh. That's too bad?"

A muscle ticked in Harry's jaw. "He said you told him to back off."

Draco felt as though he'd been doused with ice water. He didn't know what to say, and couldn't believe Blaise had told Potter that it had been Draco, when it was Blaise all along… Blaise's brilliant idea, Blaise's idea of being a good friend… Draco would deal with him later. But right now he had an irritated and curious Harry Potter on his hands, which he didn't know how to deal with without—

"So I did," he said coolly.

"Why?" Harry demanded. "You were the one who said I should 'experiment' with Blaise. You were encouraging me!"

Draco lip curled, remembering that disastrous suggestion. He shrugged. "What of it?"

"Why would you say that and then tell Blaise to back off? Am I not good enough to even be your friend's summer fling?" he spat.

Draco could have dropped to his knees in thanks for Potter sending him this gift, this miraculous escape from the terrible truth. He drew up his coldest expression, and arched an eyebrow. "Obviously, Potter, that's the case."

Harry looked stung. "So I'm good enough to be your friend, but not good enough for Blaise to touch me? Afraid I'll contaminate him with my dirty half and half blood?"

Draco decided instantly that this imaginary objection had nothing to do with blood. "Of course it has nothing to do with blood! Were you planning on mating with Blaise? Last I checked Potter, you were both men and that is not possible, so leave off on the blood thing."

"Then what is it?"

"It's to do with you! Your—your personality!"

"My personality?"

"Yes, your holier than thou attitude, and your belief that the whole damn world owes you something now. Well, you don't get to up and decide that the world owes you Blaise."

Harry shook his head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, _Hero_. I've always seen you for what you are, even if no one else could, and you are nothing special."

"I've never acted that way! You're the one who was always strutting around the place like your pure blood and your father made you some kind of wizarding royalty!"

"Don't talk about my father!"

"I'll talk about him all I want!"

"Because it's your right, isn't it? As the vanquisher of evil it's up to Harry Potter to point out all that he perceives as wrong and evil and dark."

"That's not what I—"

"Just because you defeat one Dark Lord with a fucking _disarming spell_ doesn't make you special, or good, or a hero—It just makes you lucky!"

"But bowing and scraping to the same gives _you_ some right to tell me how wrong I am?" Harry spat.

That one hurt. Draco stepped up to Harry, opened his mouth and nothing came out. He swallowed. Harry winced and looked away, like he couldn't believe he'd said such a thing.

"You don't know," said Draco. "You don't know what it was like."

"Yes I do," he said.

"No—"

"This scar?" he said, pointing to it, "Gave me a connection to his mind. Sometimes I could see what he was thinking, what he was doing. Sometimes you were there. So yeah, I know what he made you do."

Draco spun away flinching and cursing under his breath.

"Draco, I'm—" He reached out to touch Draco's shoulder.

"Don't touch me."

"Draco, please, I didn't want to fight. I like that we're getting along and that we're friends now—"

"I don't want to be your friend!" Draco yelled, whirling around, grabbing Harry's shoulders, and shoving him into a wall. Harry's breath whooshed out, and smelled of marshmallows and chocolate. Draco eyes strayed to the other boy's lips for one tiny moment, and pushed himself away. "Leave me alone, Potter."

-oOoOo-

Harry watched Draco as he left, feeling strangely empty and cold, and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chin. He buried his head in his folded arms and wondered why he wanted to cry.

He'd fought with Malfoy before. Hundreds of times. And often the outcome was much worse than this. Neither of them had been cursed or nearly sliced in half, though Harry felt like he had been. He hadn't expected to see a reappearance of the old Malfoy this evening, and the blond had been able to cut him to the quick. He didn't think of himself as special, he never had. He'd thought of himself as a freak many times, but freak didn't mean the same thing as special. Malfoy's good opinion had never mattered to him, but now it seemed that it did. He wondered when that had changed.

Harry slept in Gryffindor Tower again that night, and dreamed of slate gray eyes, and pale hands, and strong fingers, and whispered apologies.

-oOoOo-


	9. Misery Loves Company

A/N: There's still one, maybe two chapters left. I hope it won't be a year before I get them written.

-oOoOo-

_Chapter Nine:_

_Misery Loves Company_

A week passed.

Harry and Draco were no longer speaking, and the only people who cared about this were the boys themselves, Hermione, and Draco's friends who were concerned at his sudden descent into melancholy. Draco was also not speaking to Blaise. Harry's friends did not mind that he was no longer friendly with Malfoy. They'd been concerned when he had been friendly with the blond, but now that all was back to normal they were able to relax and not have to worry about the strange friendship that was growing between the two arch rivals.

Hermione, however, was very concerned. Harry would not tell her what had happened, only that it was all over, and she didn't have to worry about Draco being around anymore, and he threw himself into helping the crew of workers that were fixing Gryffindor Tower.

So far as she could tell, Draco was doing much the same thing, only had spread his interests throughout the entire school (leaving Gryffindor Tower firmly alone) and could either be found in the Slytherin dungeons or outside Ravenclaw Tower, which was now surrounded by scaffolding and magi-techs crawling around the listing tower like ants.

Draco still ordered people around like a drill sergeant, though there was now an architect who was supposedly in charge of the operation. Draco sent people around after the curse breakers to clean up scorch marks from now diffused Dark spells, and to replace any windows that had been missed in the first go round, and to help replace decorative masonry, or broken balustrades or staircases. He was very good at ordering people around, Hermione thought, though he was lousy at encouragement. So she did that herself. That was her job as Head Girl, after all. She figured that if Malfoy could act as Head Boy, then she could do the same. So she followed her friends to tell them how much their work was appreciated, and what fine jobs they were all doing, and wouldn't it be worth it when the school was able to open on September first? For the most part they agreed, but she thought some of them were beginning to regret that they had ever responded to Harry's letter.

The only person who was in continuous good spirits was Ron.

"He'll come around, Hermione," he said. "Don't worry. Harry's been through worse than having a fight with his _new pal_ Malfoy." Hermione wondered aloud if Ron felt threatened by Harry making friends with Malfoy.

"Don't be silly," he said, looking away.

"You don't have to worry, Ron. You and Harry have been best friends since you met. He's not going to give you up. We've all been through too much together for that to happen."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I know." Then he looked at her with that soft smile that she so loved and kissed her.

Even so, Ron spent most days working with Harry on Gryffindor Tower.

-oOoOo-

The List was growing rather than diminishing. Draco didn't know how it was happening. Every time he looked at it again someone had added to it, and it didn't seem like anything was being marked 'Completed'. He fought whimpers every time he examined it.

It didn't help that he was miserable from fighting with Potter, and then fighting with Blaise—who told him that he was being a paranoid prat, and he hadn't said anything to Potter about Draco, that Potter had guessed all on his own, and if he'd known Draco was going to fuck the whole thing up then he wouldn't have been such a 'good friend', and he'd definitely be shagging Potter by now! To which Draco had gone for his wand, and Pansy and Theo had yanked them away from each other.

It had been a very ugly week in their dormitory in the Den.

Blaise was sulking, partially because of Potter and Draco, and partially because Finnigan had taken up with Finch-Fletchley again. Draco was sulking because he'd made such a cock up of things with Potter and his friends. Pansy was sulking because she was sick and tired of them fighting and ignoring each other. And Theo had taken to spending his days with Looney Lovegood.

Draco shook his head. He still didn't know what to think about that.

Everything was wrong. Everything was broken. And Draco didn't know how to fix any of it, short of apologizing to every living being in the castle, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do that. So he latched onto the magical architects when they had done their inspection of the castle, and listened in while they conferred with the building inspectors, and followed the curse breakers as they made a catalogue of the nasty hexes that lurked in wait around the school, and he planned. He spent three days working out a plan of attack, made deadlines for everything, and proceeded the next day to order everyone around—even McGonagall.

They were lucky he had taken such an interest and was making sure that everyone was on task. They should really appreciate his efforts more than they did.

He would not, however, enter Gryffindor Tower, because that was where Potter was. It was bad enough that Draco saw him at mealtimes, but if he went up during the day when Potter was sweating with effort and covered in dust, he wasn't sure what he would do. Probably confess all and pin Potter's sweaty body to the nearest flat surface and kiss him until they both couldn't breathe.

No, it was better to send Pansy. She was just as good as he was at giving orders, and always came back from the tower with entertaining commentary, and tales of how she had made grown men cry.

It was Friday afternoon, and the hired help was slacking off, which wouldn't do at all because they weren't scheduled to work over the weekend, and Draco didn't know what he would do with himself for two whole days if he didn't have someone to yell at. Potter would likely take offense if Draco took his anger out on any of Potter's friends, and Draco didn't want Harry to be any angrier with him than he already was.

-oOoOo-

Pansy was tired of Draco's High Commander routine, and was tired of Potter looking like a kicked puppy whenever he laid eyes on Draco. Someone simply had to do something about it, and since Blaise wasn't stepping up the plate, and was instead sulking over his sexual starvation, it would have to be up to her.

She went first to Granger.

"Has Potter told you what he and Draco fought about?"

"No," said the other girl. "He won't say. Only that his relationship with Blaise," Pansy snorted, "is over. So I assume Draco didn't approve."

"No, he did not," said Pansy. "Do you know why?"

"Because he doesn't like Harry?" Hermione guessed. "Because he wants Blaise all to himself? I don't know, Pansy. I don't presume to understand how Malfoy's mind works."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're wrong on both counts," she said. "Draco did not approve because _he_ likes Potter, and wants _Potter_ all to himself."

Hermione blinked. "Draco likes Harry? Does Harry know?"

"You're Potter's best friend, Granger. I was hoping you knew the answer to that question."

"Well, I don't. He won't talk about it, as I said. I assumed he was moping over Blaise, and fighting with Draco after they'd just become friends."

Pansy sighed. "Well, maybe he is. I know for sure that Draco didn't say anything about his feelings, because he's trying to squish them until they go away, which won't work because he's never been indifferent to Potter—he just doesn't know how—and a crush on someone like that is a hard thing to beat in the best of conditions, which this is not."

"Malfoy has a crush on Harry," Hermione said to herself. "That's… odd. But not altogether unexpected now that I think about it."

"Do you think," Pansy said conspiratorially, "there's a chance that Potter could feel the same way?"

Hermione considered this. "I suppose if Harry can learn to be friends with Malfoy then anything is possible. A week ago I would have sworn up and down that Harry was straight and would soon be back together with Ginny, but that didn't happen, and now he's fooling around with Blaise Zabini and making friends with Draco Malfoy, which I still can't wrap my head around, and now Malfoy apparently has a crush on Harry, and—so yes, Pansy, it's possible."

Granger, Pansy reflected, could really be a drama queen at times. The girl was nearly quivering in agitation. She resisted the urge to take the other girl's shoulders and hold her still.

"Do you think you could do some scouting for me?" asked Pansy. "Could you find out where Potter's precious heart lies at the current time?"

"I can try," Hermione said. "But I've been trying to get him to talk to me for a week, and he refuses. I'm not sure what more I can do. Right now it's a waiting game, and eventually he'll crack under the pressure, but it's anyone's guess when that will be. I never heard a word about how he felt about Ginny until they were already together, and then he told me that he'd been pining for months. Months, and I didn't notice!"

"You were rather preoccupied with Weasley and his ill-fated romance with Lavender Brown at the time."

"You noticed?"

Pansy laughed. "Granger, _everyone_ noticed."

"Oh," she said sourly.

"Subtle you are not," said Pansy. "Now go use your not-so-subtle interrogation skills on Potter and bring me back something I can use."

"Use for what?"

"To get the two of them together, obviously. I'm sick of Draco acting like a girl about this, and Potter's big weepy green eyes make me want to hurt something—namely my best friend—so this madness must stop immediately."

Hermione smiled. "You're a hopeless romantic under all that spiteful bitchiness, aren't you?"

"Tell anyone and I'll hurt you."

-oOoOo-

Harry hovered over Gryffindor Tower on his broom with a bag of nails and a hammer. He and Ron were helping the other workers ("The ones who are getting paid," Ron groused) fix wooden shingles into place on the roof. It was a mindless, tedious job, and involved lots of bruised thumbs. There was a spell to put the nails in, but Harry felt the hammer worked just as well, and Ron thought it was easier the Muggle way, though harder on his fingers.

"Ron, you're missing a nail there."

"Oh, thanks."

They worked in silence for some minutes, and then Ron said, "Hermione's worried about you."

"I know, but I'm fine."

"Mate, no you're not. Even I can tell. So what is it? I get that you might not want to talk about it, but it's been a week, maybe it will help."

Harry debated the intelligence of telling Ron he broke up with his sister because he had fooled around with Blaise Zabini and discovered he was maybe gay while his best friend had a hammer in his hand. It didn't seem like the right time to say such things, but they were alone, and Harry was quicker on a broom than Ron was anyway. He could get away if Ron began swinging for his head.

"Ginny and I didn't break up just because we decided it wouldn't work. There was an actual reason…"

"I thought we were going to talk about Malfoy," said Ron.

"I'm getting to that," said Harry.

"Oh-kay," he said slowly, clearly not liking that the two events connected in any way. "Wait, has Ginny been with _Malfoy_? If you're going to tell me that then I think I need to get off this broom in case I pass out."

Harry snorted. "No, Ginny hasn't been with Malfoy."

"Oh, thank Merlin. All right, go on."

"I fooled around with Blaise Zabini and figured out that I'm gay. Or bi, maybe."

Ron, who was in the act of setting up a nail to hammer into the middle of a shingle, stopped, and looked up at Harry with a confused expression on his face. "You only… wait, what?"

"I fooled around with Blaise—"

"Yeah, yeah, got that part," he said, waving his hammer. "You just now figured it out?"

"Huh?"

"You just recently, in the past week or two, figured out that you might fancy boys?"

"Um, yes?"

"Merlin, Harry," he said, raising his eyebrows, and turning back to the shingle and nail. He hammered it in with two quick swings, and looked up at Harry again. "Mate, you've been sitting on that fence since about third year."

Harry gaped. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"You used to just _stare_ at Oliver Wood in his Quidditch gear, and I will not even mention how you ogled Bill when you first met him—and every time after that—so yeah, mate, this is not exactly news to me. That's why you and Ginny broke up?"

"Yes!"

"Are you dating Zabini now?"

"No… wait, you really knew? All this time?"

"It was pretty obvious. Wasn't like you were hiding it. And Charlie's gay, so it's not like I didn't understand the signs. I just figured it wasn't something we talked about—you know, we never really talked about girls anyway, so I figured making you talk about blokes you fancied wasn't any different."

"Well, geez, Ron, I wish you'd told me. I could have saved myself a lot of grief."

"Did you think I was going to freak out about _this_? After everything?" Ron looked offended. "Honestly, Harry."

"Well, Ginny is your sister. I didn't know how you would feel about _why_ we'd broken up."

Ron grunted. "Yeah, all right." He pointed his hammer at Harry. "Don't do it again."

"Yes, Ron. I promise."

"So you've been moping over Zabini?" he guessed.

"No, not really. I mean, it was just a bit of fun… or at least it would have been, but apparently Malfoy told Blaise to back off. And when I asked Malfoy about it he said it was because I wasn't good enough for Blaise, and we argued, obviously."

Ron glared darkly. "He said that you weren't good enough? Some stupid blood thing of his?"

"No, he said it was because I act like I think I'm better than everyone else."

Ron snorted. "Isn't that just like him? Are you sure he wasn't talking about himself?"

"No, pretty sure he was talking about me. So now we're not friends any longer, and he won't speak to me."

"He's a git."

Harry nodded, lining up his hammer with a nail. "Yeah, he really is."

-oOoOo-

"Wait, wait, wait," laughed Ron. "Are you saying that for _years_, I've known something that you haven't?"

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. "Yes."

He crowed with triumph and grinned down at her. "Take it back."

"Take what back?"

"Say, 'Ron, I'm sorry that I said you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. I was wrong.'"

Hermione sighed and refused with a glare. He just snickered at her. "I can't believe neither of you knew. Not even Harry. Geez, are you two oblivious or what?"

"Oh, shut up."

He hugged her. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure you'll make up for it."

She didn't hug him back, and instead spat, "Draco Malfoy has a crush on Harry."

Ron abruptly stopped and pulled away to peer at her face. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Pansy said so."

"Serves that git right, now Harry hates him again." He frowned. "Is that why he was such an arse about the Zabini and Harry thing?"

"That's what Pansy said."

"You should tell Harry, it'll give him a laugh."

"Well, I'm going to tell him, but not so he'll laugh. Pansy wants to try to get them together."

"What?" he said flatly.

"She doesn't know if it will work, and nor do I. Harry might not have any feelings for him."

Ron was looking more distressed by the second. "Oh, it will work."

"Why do you say that? Did Harry say something to you about Malfoy?"

"It will work because Harry's a sucker for someone in pain, and he's a bleeding heart on top of that. He'll give Malfoy a chance, and then the little ferret will get his claws in, and then we'll never, ever, ever be rid of him." Ron sighed disgustedly. "Come on, let's go tell Harry."

Hermione stopped him by throwing her arms around his neck. "You're a good friend, Ron Weasley—willing to put up with Malfoy for the rest of our lives, just because it might make Harry happy…" She kissed him. "I love you."

Ron looked addled for a moment, shocked at her admission, but then a brilliant smile broke over his face. "I love you, too."

It was a very long time before they went in search of their best friend.

-oOoOo-

Harry slept in the Den with Ron and Neville, but he didn't sleep easily. He had brushed off Pansy's pack of lies, and Hermione's insistence that they weren't lies, 'and it all made sense, really, if you think about it, Harry'. But clearly, the Slytherin girl had been lying through her teeth. There was no way that Draco Malfoy had feelings for Harry that were anything other than sheer, bitter hatred, and possibly envy.

Harry didn't know what Malfoy saw as enviable, but he would be willing to let the blond know exactly what he was missing by not being in Harry's shoes every day.

It had been easy to dismiss Pansy's claims, and Hermione's pleading that he just think about it during the day, but when he'd fallen into bed the idea swirled around in his head like white flakes in a snow globe, and he didn't know where they would fall.

He thought about years of animosity, years of rivalry, years of Malfoy hating Harry. There were many feelings between the two boys, none of them good, but whatever they were they certainly weren't indifferent to each other. Harry had never been able to ignore Malfoy, and it seemed the same was true for the Slytherin. But the idea that Malfoy had turned it all around and made it into something else, something positive, something like lust or l—

No, Harry thought. It's not possible.

It was miraculous enough that they'd managed to be friends for all of two days, but a relationship was just unthinkable. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. What would being in a relationship with Draco Malfoy be like? What was the blond expecting?

Harry tried to imagine it.

He thought of kissing Draco, and holding his hand, and cuddling on sofas, and making love in large beds and on desks and tables and against walls and in the shower. He thought of having Draco's body beneath him and above him, of having his tongue in his mouth. He thought of licking trails on perfect alabaster skin, and having silver blond hair fisted in his hands. He thought of Draco laughing, and smiling, and looking coy, and eyes darkened to pewter with lust. He thought of kissing him in the morning, and going to sleep at night wrapped and tangled together. He thought of Draco's cock in his hands, and in his mouth—and who would top and who would bottom? Would they switch? He didn't know.

Harry knew better than to expect Draco to be nice, so he thought of biting comments softened by easy smiles, and sharp smirks drowned with kisses, and vicious words and horrible arguments, and all the make up sex there would be.

He thought of blond hair and pale skin and gray eyes, and he thought of it as belonging to him and him alone.

Harry buried his face in his pillow, and stifled a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

-oOoOo-

Pansy had been scheming with Gryffindors. This thought still made Blaise want to roll his eyes. True, she'd been consorting with Granger, who was astute and intelligent for a Lion, but nevertheless a Slytherin did not scheme with Gryffindors—they were meant to manipulate Gryffindors into going along with schemes. Pansy did not care for his feelings on the matter, and prissily told Blaise that the situation was entirely his fault anyhow.

"If you ever want Draco to forgive you, then you must do the thing he's so angry with you for in the first place!"

"That doesn't make any sense," Blaise whined. "He's being such a prat."

Pansy had snapped her fingers—actually snapped at him like he was a dog—and ordered him to do as she bid. Blaise snarled, and left.

He didn't want to do it. Draco was angry because he thought Blaise had spilled the beans to Potter about Draco's feelings, although Blaise had done nothing of the sort. Potter was just a little too clever for a naive little Gryffindor. And Blaise didn't like playing a part in any scheme of Pansy's, no matter how good-natured this one was.

But he went to Gryffindor Tower anyway, dragging his feet like a condemned man, thinking of his aborted summer romance, all for the sake of a friend…

"Stupid Draco," he muttered.

Potter was in the Gryffindor common room attempting to repair an armchair that had been crushed by falling masonry. From what little of the chair he had repaired Blaise thought he should just give it up and buy a new one—the thing was clearly on its last legs before it had been crushed into a hundred pieces.

"Hey, Hero."

Harry looked up and smiled slightly. "Hi, Blaise."

"I've come to talk about Draco," said Blaise, letting every word be dragged from his lips like slavering wolves were yanking on them.

Harry grunted, and looked back to the mess of chair parts. "Have you come to spread more of Pansy's lies?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow and leaned casually against the end of a sofa. "Not lies. Draco has a thing for you, and I tried to do the honorable thing and let him have a shot at you, but as usual, Draco has fucked everything up."

Harry frowned. "Did he make you?"

"No, it was my idea. Pansy and I figured out what his problem was, and I confronted him about it, he confessed, and I conceded the field. Draco argued with you, and has decided that he hates me for somehow letting the truth come out to you, and here we are."

Harry worried a bit of chair leg in his hands. "Why didn't he just tell me the truth when I asked him about why he told you to stay away?"

"Because Draco is a coward."

Harry tossed the piece of wood aside. "Yeah, I got that already."

"I think he's embarrassed. Not because he has feelings for you, but because these feelings have obviously been going on for a long time, and most of your rivalry with him amounts to pigtail pulling."

"Pigtail pulling?" Harry snorted. "It was a bit more than that."

"Well, Draco tends to take things a bit too far."

Harry chewed at his bottom lip. Blaise wanted to lick it.

"He really likes me?" he asked, voice a little vulnerable.

Blaise sighed. "Yes, he really does. I wish to Merlin he didn't… oh, the things I was going to do to you, Hero." Harry blushed, and Blaise grinned.

"Why was he such a prat then? I mean, the things he said were… well, not really any worse than things he would have said before, but—"

"Like I said, he's embarrassed. He hardly wants to admit it to himself, and he certainly doesn't want you to know—it puts him at a disadvantage. I think if you'd never found out about why I was calling a stop to what was going on with you and me that he would have eventually tried to win you over, but it didn't work out that way, so he attacked you first before you could hurt him by saying no."

"Idiot," Harry muttered.

"Never said he was smart. Just scared. He does have a crush on his former enemy, after all. He knows full well how easily you could hurt him."

"I wouldn't!" Harry protested.

"It would hurt if you'd told him that there was never a way you could feel the same," said Blaise practically. "His heart _is_ on the line."

"His heart?"

Harry looked lost, and it looked good on him. Blaise wanted to wrap him up and do naughty things to him until the frown went away. He sighed to himself and wondered how much longer he was doomed to celibacy. It wasn't fun with the temptation that was Harry Potter sitting before him looking thoroughly corruptible.

Blaise made a show of brushing his hands off. "I wash my hands of all this emotional nonsense. I've done my part. No one can say I haven't. It's all up to you now, Hero. To woo Draco, or not. But don't toy with him, eh? He is my friend, even if he is being an enormous prat and I'd soon as toss him in the lake as speak to him."

This wrung a small smirk from Harry, and Blaise let his eyes linger.

"See you later, Hero."

"Bye, Blaise."

-oOoOo-

Potter was staring at him. Draco could feel it—like those green eyes were burning holes in his right ear and cheek—and winced. He glared into his coffee cup and refused to look Boy Wonder's way. He didn't know what he would see in Harry's face, and he didn't know what his own expression would reveal. It was safer to look only at his coffee.

The Great Hall was alive with noise, much like any lunch hour would be during the school year, though only one small table seated students. The rest of the tables were populated with grunt workers, architects, magi-techs, and curse breakers—they were all just as loud as the table of Hogwarts students.

Draco had tried to avoid eating with the others over the past week and few days, instead getting Gigi to bring food to him wherever he happened to be at the time, but Pansy would not allow that today. She insisted that he eat lunch with her, and would not take no for an answer. When she got like this, it was best to let her have her own way.

Though he didn't know why she'd required his presence, because she was spending her lunch hour chatting with Brown and Patil, and all but ignoring him.

"Don't you think so, Draco?" she asked.

"Of course, Pansy, you are absolutely right," he droned.

The girls tittered, and he assumed he'd just answered wrongly. He did not care.

Draco topped off his cup, and dropped several cubes of sugar into it and stirred, feeling morose.

He could admit to himself that lashing out at Harry—while it had been necessary—was a stupid thing to do. He felt like an arse, and a coward, and that shameful part of himself wanted to get down on his knees and tell Harry that he was so sorry, and hadn't meant a word. He couldn't even bear to look across the room to find the other boy's face, because he didn't want to know what was lurking there.

Was Harry hurt? Still angry? Or worse, had he decided that nothing Draco said mattered? Would he start to ignore Draco?

"I'm quite looking forward to the Midsummer festival this year," said Pansy to the other girls. "I haven't been allowed to go for a few years now."

"My parents haven't taken us since, oh, fourth year?" said Parvati. "Not even to Diagon. They never would have taken us to the Hogsmeade festival."

"Wait," said Lavender. "What are you talking about? There's a festival at Midsummer?"

"Oh, I forgot!" said Parvati. "Oh, Lav, you'll love it!"

"Love what?"

Pansy laughed. "There's a festival on Midsummer. Everyone dresses up, gets monstrously drunk in the streets, it's a lot of fun."

Parvati scowled at her. "It might be that way in Hogsmeade, but the celebrations are never that rowdy in London. It's like a street fair, Lav, only it goes all night. The shops stay open late, and most people have parties to celebrate."

"Celebrating what? Summer?"

Pansy waved a hand. "Oh, some ancient tradition, I don't know. It doesn't matter. The important thing is that we're all going to need to get costumes and make-up. I think everyone should go. I mean, this is not only a post-war Midsummer celebration, it is also the first that we will attend as of age witches." She smiled scandalously. "It's important. Monumental."

Lavender giggled. "Sounds like fun. What do we dress up as? Is it like Halloween?"

Draco left the table without saying goodbye to Pansy, who was too distracted by talk of enchanted fairy wings and glitter eye makeup to care in any case. He'd forgotten that Midsummer was coming up fast. His birthday had passed with little fan fare, it seemed as though this should go the same way, but it wouldn't. Not when Pansy had decided to be involved in the celebration. She would get a costume for Draco when she bought her own, and she would insist on painting his face as well.

He sighed in preemptive annoyance. It was traditional, but he still hated what face paint did to his skin. Well, he wouldn't let her do a thing to his hair this year, he decided. He had to draw a line somewhere—and the last time they'd attended the Hogsmeade summer festival it had taken days for him to get those gold streaks out of his hair.

He wondered if Harry would go.

-oOoOo-

It wasn't long before news of the Midsummer festival reached Harry, and soon every student was caught up in preparations and excitement.

"I've never been," said Ron. "Mum wouldn't let us go, of course. It's supposed to get a bit dodgy." He grinned in anticipation.

Hermione had never heard of it, and so was in the library researching the history of the holiday.

Harry wasn't much in the mood for celebrating anything. He still felt like he'd been smacked sideways into a wall that had turned out to be made of tissue paper and was reeling from the unexpected fall.

"It'll probably be even better this year, of course," said Ron. "Given that, uh, you know, the war is over and You Know Who is gone."

Harry opened his mouth to correct Ron – tell him it was probably safe to say 'Voldemort' now that the dark wizard was definitely dead – but he didn't have the heart. It was all taken up with confusion.

Draco wouldn't look at him at all during lunch. Not even a glimpse under his lashes to see if Harry was looking. Harry didn't know what to think. Blaise may have been right before, but now it seemed so improbable. Malfoy did not seem to be a person suffering from unrequited feelings. He was still snapping at everyone, and generally making life difficult for all those who were helping with the reconstruction project. The only difference was that he was completely ignoring Harry.

"You want to go, right?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"It'll be fun," Ron said. "Plus, there's this whole masquerade element to the festival. It's not like people will be clamoring to get your autograph or anything."

Admittedly, that did make the prospect more tempting. Ron was grinning at him hopefully, and Harry, not having the heart, couldn't turn him down.

"All right. Sure. It does sound like fun."

Ron left to talk to Hermione about costumes, and promised that they'd pick something up for Harry in Hogsmeade.

Harry wandered down to the Den, thinking about Draco and crushes and what he wanted to do about it all.

What he ought to do is talk to Draco – but he had a fairly good idea of how the blond would take a conversation on this topic – and also Harry was awful when it came to words and expressing what he was feeling. He was so much better at simply acting. Case in point, grabbing Ginny that first time and kissing her out of nowhere. It had worked out, because she was Ginny and she understood that Harry was a prat.

Draco, on the other hand, would give Harry no such leeway. In fact he was unlikely to give Harry anything at all. Crush or no, heart or no, Draco would not make this easy.

Harry found the Hufflepuff common room empty, as well as the enclosed courtyard. He lay down on the grass one arm behind his head and the other covering his eyes against the glare of sunshine, and did what he did best. He brooded.

-oOoOo-

Pansy followed Draco down to the Den raging at him all the way.

"Oh, will you stop being so maudlin!" Pansy moaned. "I can't take it! You made this situation all on your own, Draco. You are perfectly capable of getting yourself out of it."

"I'm not being maudlin," he said. He threw himself down on a hideous yellow sofa in the common room, covering his eyes with an arm. Maybe she would get the hint.

"You're being a whiney little bitch, is what you're being." But maybe not.

He growled and crossed his arms over his chest. Pansy continued standing before him tapping her foot and looking like his mother when she wanted Draco to confess to eating biscuits before dinner.

"Just talk to him!" she said.

"I will not. It's so humiliating, I can hardly bear to think about it. I'm certainly not going to vocalize it all in front of him."

She rolled her eyes. "You like him. It's not humiliating."

"It is so. Years, Pansy, _years_ I've been feeling this way, and I didn't even realize it because I'd covered it up with loathing. It's embarrassing. It's _Potter_."

"It's _Harry_. You didn't like Potter. You like Harry." She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Hell, _I_ like Harry."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't everyone? Look, Pansy, just let it go. I have more important things to worry about right now."

"You do not. The architects and curse breakers and all the workers McGonagall hired are here, and they are the ones meant to be worrying about the state of Hogwarts. It's not our problem any longer. I don't even know why we're all still here."

"So go home."

She huffed. "You know I don't want to go home. I want to be where you all are. I'm having fun."

"You and your new troupe of Gryffindor girls."

She smiled. "I like Lavender and Parvati. They can keep up with me." Draco snorted, remembering how Millicent and Daphne had trailed helplessly in Pansy's wake. "I quite like Gryffindors," she mused. "They're spunky."

"That's one word for it."

She sighed, "Oh, give it up, Draco. You like them just as well as I do. All I'm saying is that it's okay for you to relax a bit about this project of yours. It's well out of your hands now, and no one expects you to do this single-handedly."

"I'm not. I've got you, haven't I?"

"I'm only bringing you reports from wherever Potter is, because you are too much of a coward to face him yourself."

"I'm not being a coward. I'm being sensible." She rolled her eyes. "No, Pans, look. It's just a crush. I'm sure with time it will fade, and this unfortunate attachment to Harry Potter will soon be just a dim memory."

"Sure. Good luck with that," she said, sounding distracted. She was looking at something behind him. Draco followed her line of sight and bit back a moan of despair.

-oOoOo-

Harry heard voices coming from the interior of the Hufflepuff common room, and raised his head to get a look at who was speaking. He had to squint, as the sunlight was making the windows dark and difficult to see in. But he could see blond hair, and that sultry voice could belong to no one but Pansy Parkinson. It wasn't difficult to deduce who she was speaking to.

Harry slowly and stealthily crept towards the open doors. He didn't bother to remind himself that eavesdropping is not the activity of a fine upstanding Gryffindor. That lesson hadn't sunk in yet, and he doubted it ever would. He dropped down against the stone wall just to the right of the door and listened very hard.

He needed an insight into what Draco was thinking, how he was feeling. He needed to prepare for the coming conversation, and knowing Draco's current mental state would be helpful. He was just… gathering evidence. It also wouldn't hurt to hear the truth straight from Draco, and not have to rely on second hand information from Blaise.

He heard Pansy say, "You like him. It's not humiliating."

"It is so," Draco said. "Years, Pansy, _years_ I've been feeling this way, and I didn't even realize it because I'd covered it up with loathing. It's embarrassing. It's _Potter_."

"It's _Harry_. You didn't like Potter. You like Harry. Hell, _I_ like Harry."

Harry felt as though his heart would beat completely out of his chest. Draco's voice had a tinge of desperation to it, as though he just wanted Pansy to understand—understand that he'd had feelings for Harry for years—Harry wanted to know just how many, and when Draco thought they had started—and badly needed Pansy to be on his side, to be supportive or something.

Harry immediately disregarded Draco's embarrassment. It wasn't important. He could tell that the feelings of shame were only down to thinking that the feelings would not be reciprocated.

But they were. Harry definitely reciprocated.

He debated with himself for a moment, wondering if now was the right time and if an ambush was the right approach. He decided that any attempt would be an ambush, and there simply was no right time. He got to his feet.

If he hadn't been so nervous, what with his pounding heart and his stomach doing all sorts of impressive and nauseating maneuvers, he would have been hard pressed not to chuckle at the look on Pansy's face when she realized that he'd been listening.

Draco's face, on the other hand, was far from funny. He looked like he was wondering why the universe had decided to use him as its own personal dumping ground for bad luck. He buried his face in his hands and moaned.

"Draco?" Harry said. "Can I—can we talk?"

Draco made an incoherent noise of frustration and humiliation. "No."

"Please? I just—"

"No, Potter," he said, getting to his feet and looking just as angry as he ever had when dealing with Harry. "No, we cannot. Leave me the hell alone."

He left the Den at a quick walk. Harry made to follow him, but stopped when Pansy put her hand on his arm and shook her head.

"Not just now, Potter," she said.

-oOoOo-

Draco all but ran from the Den, having no clear idea where he was running to. He supposed, in an ironic way, that it wasn't all that surprising that his feet had taken him to the seventh floor corridor to a patch of bare wall across from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Draco turned on his heel, scrubbing his eyes, intending to leave, but his feet took him past the stretch of blank wall once, twice, three times. No door appeared.

He stopped and looked helplessly at the space where the door to the Room of Requirement should be.

He tried again. "I need somewhere to go where Potter can't find me. I need somewhere to hide from Harry Potter. I need—" A door appeared. It had clearly once been a fine door, made of mahogany, brushed to a high shine, and decorated with gilded accents – but the edges of the door were charred, the varnish bubbled and cracked, the gilded leaves and whorls looked as though they'd been flash melted.

He reached out a trembling hand for the door knob, the metal twisted black and strange – pieces still sparkling gold, and opened the door.

It was the Room of Hidden Things. He only knew because the unique cathedral-like architecture of the room was still intact, and the windows, now blackened, were as he remembered. He stepped tentatively inside, and the door shut behind him, sending up a little whirl of ash that covered the floor. The walls were burnt black, sunlight tried feebly to filter through the sooty windows, and the room was absolutely empty. Only piles of ash remained of the multitude of things that had once crammed this room like a hedge maze of debris.

He remembered hours and hours spent in this room, trying desperately to fix a cabinet that did not want to be fixed. He remembered being terrified of failure—his parents' lives on the line. He remembered a fire, and Crabbe and Goyle being so utterly _stupid_, and holding onto an unconscious Greg and knowing that he was going to die, that it was imminent, and then Harry Potter had swept down from the air full of fire, and had pulled him out.

He shut his eyes.

_It's over_, he reminded himself. _All that is over_.

He opened his eyes and began to systematically vanish all of the ash, and set scouring spells to work on the walls and windows. He could fix it. He could make everything better – everything right.

It took hours. Hours and hours of mind numbing spellcasting. He conjured up sponges and mops and buckets of soapy water, and set them to scrub the floors and walls and windows. But eventually it was done, and the great cathedral room was clean. There was no sign that a fire had ever occurred there.

Draco sat in the middle of the room, sponges still zooming the walls and mops performing pirouettes on the floor, and examined his handiwork. A smile touched his mouth, and a sense of satisfaction rose in his chest. He was capable, more than capable, of setting things right, he thought. If he could clean this hollowed out wreck of a room, and oversee the largest reconstruction project in this post-war world, then he was capable of dealing with a relatively small thing like having a crush on another boy.

Harry Potter was just Harry. He had never lived up to his hype, and he was nothing extraordinary, just as Draco had always thought. He was just another boy, albeit an extremely lucky one, and attractive, and kind. But he was still just a boy—prone to fits of wild stupidity, and completely unable to speak his own mind without stammering and tripping over his own words. Harry was nothing to be scared of, nothing to hide from. Draco could deal with him too. He didn't have to hide his face or himself away. He could meet Harry head on, and often had, and he could deal with this. He could.

Draco waved his wand and the mops, sponges, and buckets disappeared, leaving the room still and silent, but clean. He wondered if in a thousand years time if this room would be filled to the brim once again with old brooms, empty sherry bottles, and cabinets. He almost hoped so.

-oOoOo-

Harry knew where Draco was. The Marauder's Map had told him where Draco wasn't, and that left only one place. Harry slid down the wall underneath the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy until he was sitting on the floor. He stretched his legs out in front of himself and settled in for a long wait. There was no point in attempting the door. The Room would never let him in—he knew from experience.

He couldn't believe Draco had come here alone. That he had chosen this place of all places to hide. Harry would have thought he wanted to avoid the Room of Requirement and the memories that came along with it at all costs. But apparently when faced with Harry Potter wanting to talk about feelings, privacy was more important than emotional turmoil to Draco Malfoy.

Harry sat there for a very long time, wondering what he could or should say.

When his arse and feet had gone numb for the eighth time, and he was trying to get feeling and blood flowing back into his legs by pacing the length of the corridor, the door of the Room opened.

Draco walked out. He was covered in soot and looked exhausted, but he also looked calm and content. Harry couldn't make sense of it.

"Draco?" he called down the hall. He didn't want the other boy to get away before he had a chance to talk to him. Draco turned and a corner of his mouth turned up. He changed course, and walked to meet Harry.

When they were face to face, Harry had even less of an idea what he ought to say. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but no words came out. Draco's expression of contentment was still throwing him for a loop.

Draco seemed to be examining his face. What was he looking for, Harry wondered? But whatever it was, Draco seemed to find it. He smiled slightly, a dare, a challenge in his eyes, and glanced quickly at Harry's lips. Harry sucked in a breath. Draco put up a hand touching Harry's jaw with his thumb and the back of his neck with his elegant fingers. Harry let himself be led, completely unable to do anything else, and shut his eyes when Draco's lips touched his.

It was a simple kiss. Just a touching of closed lips, once, twice, three times. But Harry felt like it was very hard to take a breath, and tingles and shivers radiated out from where Draco's hands were touching him—on his face and neck and the other at his waist. Harry's hands felt useless, dumb, just hanging there at his sides and he had no idea what to do with them. He began to bring them up, to pull Draco closer maybe, but then Draco was stepping away, smiling in amusement and something else. He nodded, maybe to himself, maybe to Harry, and strolled away down the corridor with his hands in his pockets, looking very pleased with himself.

Harry watched him go, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

-oOoOo-

A/N: And that's all I've got for now. Hey, at least it ends with a kiss!


End file.
